The Devil You Know
by Anna Greenway
Summary: The CSIs are called to a disturbance at the home of their colleague Sara Sidle. With Sara unable to speak, they must follow the evidence to piece together what happened, and save their friend.
1. Chapter 1

**THE DEVIL YOU KNOW**

Before the call, there was monotony. Of course, every graveyard shift began with monotony, but Catherine remembered that that Monday had been particularly quiet. She recalled standing at the small kitchenette in the lab tearoom, stirring a black coffee, waiting for Grissom to join them. Somewhere above her a clock was ticking, behind her the sound of Nick and Warrick thumbing idly through discarded magazines. It was several minutes before Grissom arrived, walking in without even sparing them a glance, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he read.

"I got the lab results from the scene in Death Valley," he began. "Analysis of the blood found details that it's _not _our victim's, but belongs to an unknown male. That means we have to go back over the evidence and question the family again. Sara, you -"

He paused, his eyes lifting to find his target and noticing for the first time that she was not among them. For a split second he looked disoriented; his sentence lost.

"Where's Sara?"

"Late," Nick reported. "Hasn't clocked in yet."

Grissom glanced around the table, then behind at the deserted corridor. He frowned, and Catherine followed his eyes to the clock on the wall. It was already fifteen minutes past midnight, past the beginning of shift. Usually, Sara was the first to arrive, well settled by the time Catherine entered the building, and usually accompanied by a stale air of having never left.

"She's probably overslept," Catherine suggested.

She did not voice her real thoughts, mention any of the little things she had been noticing over the past six months. There was Sara's increasingly dishevelled appearance, the dark tint under her eyes, the subtle smell of beer lingering on her breath. Thus far Catherine had never mentioned it, electing to protect the privacy of Sara's personal life. And she doubted that the others had even noticed. But after living her entire life in Las Vegas, Catherine was able to recognise the seedier side of the city long before the others.

"C'mon, the girl lives here," Warrick dismissed. "She's probably just ducked out for a bite to eat."

But Grissom ignored the comment. He took out his cell phone, checked the screen for messages.

"Has anyone heard from her?"

There was silence as they exchanged blank looks.

"Grissom?"

At the familiar voice they all looked up. Sofia Curtis stood in the doorway, one hand against the frame. Her expression was solemn.

"There's been a call over the radio," she informed them. "A 911 from Sara Sidle's apartment building. She's been attacked."

XXX

In the passenger seat of Sofia's car, Catherine seized the door handle. Sofia swerved through the late night traffic like a pro, her eyes locked hard onto the road ahead. Cars pulled over to make way for them as their siren pierced the air, and it was echoed by the car behind them, in which Grissom, Nick and Warrick followed. In the parking garage of headquarters there had been no time to find their own cars, but that did not matter now. As they careered into Sara's street, Catherine saw the usually quiet neighborhood was in chaos. Squad cars were parked haphazardly in front of the old brick apartment building, their flashing lights reflecting off windows up and down the street. The neighbours, roused from sleep, stood on the sidewalks in their pyjamas, fear etched into every face.

The tyres screeched as Sofia skidded to a halt. In an instant Catherine unsnapped her belt and was out of the car. She spotted Brass on the front steps of the building and made straight for him, Sofia jogging behind her to catch up.

"Is she all right?" Catherine called, shouting above the sirens, and police officers who were waving back the observers.

"She's alive," Brass confirmed.

Catherine searched his eyes for more information, but he offered none. He looked harried, and cast impatient glances at the crowd. As Grissom, Nick and Warrick joined them he led them inside. The front doors closed behind them and the noise immediately dimmed. Catherine found herself in a poorly lit hallway, a row of mail slots leading to an ancient lift with a dying light. Brass ignored the lift and went straight to the stairs.

Their feet were like thunder as they jogged up the levels.

"What happened?" Grissom called.

"Neighbours made the call. They heard shouting, saw an unidentified male flee the scene. They found her on the floor of her apartment, called 911."

They reached the landing of Sara's floor, and Brass turned to face them. He dropped his voice.

"No one really knows _what _the hell happened. The neighbours said they've never seen the guy before. Apartment looks like a tornado ripped through it, and Sara ..."

He trailed off. Catherine saw something flash through his eyes which made her heart sink with a thud. Her chest felt tight.

Nick asked the question, quiet and concerned. "She's all right, isn't she?"

"You'll see for yourselves," he answered cryptically.

XXX

The hallway outside Sara's apartment was crowded. Residents from Sara's level hovered outside their doors amongst a sprinkling of police officers, all of them watching the commotion with stunned faces. Many of the officers had worked with Sara, and all of them knew of her. Catherine followed Brass as he carved a path through the crowd, and the spectating officers stood back to let them inside.

When she reached the doorway, Catherine abruptly stopped.

"_Jesus_," Sofia breathed.

"_Damn_," Nick echoed.

It was not as bad as Catherine had imagined, but it was enough that the scene momentarily winded her. Everything stood overturned, furniture and possessions thrown in a confetti of violence. Near the television a beer bottle had been smashed, shards of glass covering the floor, but there was no sign of any blood. She noticed, too, more empty beer bottles abandoned on the coffee table, gathered together like bowling pins, and by the dining table what had been a pile of old forensic magazines were now scattered all over the room, pages open as if they had been thrown. A lone flower stood in a vase on a side table - as if at one point Sara had tried to let some beauty into her life - but all in all the apartment was dim and depressing. Then, too, Catherine noticed a peculiar absence of family photos. Not a single portrait was to be seen.

Grissom stepped past her, his eyes wide, stricken.

"Where is she?" Catherine asked, pulling herself together.

"In here," Brass said, and carefully began stepping through the detritus, leading them toward the bedroom. Catherine slowly followed, watching her footing, careful to not disturb anything that might serve as evidence.

A small passage off the living room led to the bedroom, but as they approached a middle aged paramedic appeared, holding up his hands to head them off.

"You are..?"

"CSI," Catherine supplied, flashing her badge. "She's one of ours."

"You're her colleagues?"

"Friends," Warrick corrected.

"Family," Grissom said flatly.

The paramedic nodded his sympathy, but did not drop his hands. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside."

"Can't we see her?" Nick asked.

"Not yet," the paramedic answered. "Not until she's stable."

"Stable?" Warrick repeated, but he was interrupted by Sofia.

"Well if she was injured you'd be taking her out of here, right? To hospital."

She glanced around pointedly, and Catherine then noticed too that there was no stretcher, seemingly no urgency to flee the scene. Something did not add up. But Catherine was saved the trouble of pressing for information when a second paramedic appeared, a motherly female who had evidently been listening in.

"You're close friends of hers?"

The question was directed to Catherine, but it was Grissom who replied.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Come with me," she said.

She held out an arm, singling out Catherine and Grissom to be led into the room. The short passage soon led to the double bedroom, and off to the left was an ensuite bathroom, the door open and light streaming out. Catherine knew straightaway that that was where Sara was, as the bedroom itself was deserted. Unlike the rest of the apartment, it seemed neat and untouched. Through the single large window Catherine could see the blue and red lights still flashing across the nightscape.

The paramedic lowered her voice to a near whisper as they approached.

"She's not doing too well, I'm afraid. She seems physically unharmed - just some minor cuts and abrasions - but it's hard to tell. She doesn't want us near her. She's huddled in the bathroom, won't speak, in some kind of shock. When I asked if she'd been sexually assaulted she said no, but that's all she's said."

"You don't think she's lying?" Catherine asked quickly.

She saw Grissom's eyes flit suddenly toward her, alarmed.

"No," the paramedic answered. "This is something else. I don't know what. But maybe you can talk to her, calm her down."

They stopped at the bathroom door. There were no sounds coming from inside. A third paramedic emerged from the room, joining his colleague with a look of surrender.

"Thank you," Grissom said pointedly. "We'll take it from here."

Like a gentleman, he let Catherine go in first. She edged in slowly, her heels clicking on the tiles, and paused once she'd rounded the door. Sara sat against the shower, a fluffy towel wrapped around her shoulders, staring at the wall opposite. She gave no signs to indicate that she had registered their presence, but seemed aware of her surroundings. As Catherine hesitated she closed her eyes a moment, as if focusing on her breathing, on pulling herself together. Underneath the towel Catherine could see she wore a peach satin nightie, and that goosebumps rained up and down her arms. Her feet were bare on the cold floor. She could see no blood, no physical injury.

Catherine spoke gently, her heart wrenched. "Sara ..."

Together they moved closer, crouching down on the tiles with her. Remembering what the paramedic had said, Catherine did not reach to touch her, but tried to move to catch her eyes.

"Sara?" Grissom probed softly.

She closed her eyes a moment, but did not shrink away.

"Sara, it's going to be okay now," Catherine told her. "Everyone's here. You're safe."

Sara opened her eyes again, and this time met Catherine's. They were steady, with no tears, but wracked with the reverberations of shock.

"Are you all right?" Grissom asked.

But she did not reply. Instead, her hand trailed toward Catherine. For a moment Catherine thought she was reaching for her hand, searching for comfort, but her fingers instead took the hem of her leather jacket, lifting the corner away to expose her holstered weapon. Upon seeing it she immediately relaxed, sinking back against the shower, eyes closed. Relief swamped her features.

"You're safe, Sara," Catherine repeated.

"We're all armed," Grissom added. "We've got Nick and Warrick outside, Brass and two dozen police officers in the hallway."

It took a moment - a moment of glancing between Catherine's weapon and Grissom's earnest protectiveness - but at last she nodded. She sank forward, sweeping her hands over her face. The towel around her shoulders slipped to the tiles.

Gently, Catherine reached a hand forward, and laid it Sara's shoulder. A thousand questions in her mind fought for attention, but she knew better than to rush her. She pushed them back, allowing Sara a moment of comfort. When Sara did not throw her off, Catherine slid a warm arm around her slim frame, and they listened as her breathing steadied, easing out of her shock. They repeated again that she was safe, that it was all over.

A moment later Grissom dared to ask the question that Catherine had been withholding. His voice was gentle.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

But Sara shook her head, evasive and exhausted.

"I'm all right," she said simply.

"Sara, did he hurt you?" Catherine asked. "Harm you?"

Sara met her eyes. Catherine could tell she knew what she was asking. But despite the paramedic's assurances, she had to be certain. She had to hear Sara say it herself.

"No," she replied.

The knot of anxiety in Catherine's chest unravelled. She gently stroked Sara's back, watching her slowly pull herself together.

"Where's your weapon?" Grissom asked.

Sara wearily shook her head, exhausted with the questions.

"Does he have it?" Grissom pressed.

Sara did not look at him, but gave a slight nod. A guilty expression passed through her eyes, as though she was kicking herself. Catherine continued stroking her back. No matter what might have happened, Catherine knew Sara could not be blamed if she had been overpowered.

"It's fine," Catherine said gently. "We'll sort it out. The main thing is you're all right."

There was a slight pause. Catherine could hear a murmur of voices in the next room.

"Can you stand?" Grissom asked gently.

She looked unsure, weak with shock. They both helped her, and together raised her to her shaky feet. Grissom cast an eye down at Sara's bare feet and skimpy night attire. Together they helped her into the bedroom, Catherine keeping a firm around Sara's shoulders. Sara's eyes went toward to the three paramedics, but Catherine held up a hand to them, keeping their questions at bay. They watched as Grissom went to Sara's wardrobe, sliding open the door to reveal a rail of work clothes. He took a long back overcoat and a pair of old runners and returned to Sara's side.

"Put them on," he said gently.

Sara's movements were slow, and Catherine moved to help her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brass edge into the room, checking if the coast was clear.

"I want you to take her to hospital," Grissom told the paramedics. "Get her checked out."

The paramedics nodded and started forward to help.

"She'll need a police guard," Catherine shot to Brass. "The suspect's got her weapon."

"You got it," Brass replied, taking this information in his stride. He looked over his shoulder, passing silent instructions to a colleague.

A moment later Sara was ready, and under the care of the three paramedics, they began helping her toward the door of the apartment. She was joined quickly by several police officers, and Catherine knew they would escort her down to the ambulance, and then stand guard at the hospital. She heard Nick and Warrick offer their support as Sara passed them, and after another moment, she was gone, and the two guys entered the room with Sofia.

Nick cast his eyes around at the perfectly neat room, then back over his shoulder to the warzone in the living room.

"I want the two of you to get started," Grissom replied, indicating Nick and Warrick. "Seal off the scene. I don't want anyone in this apartment who isn't a CSI."

Brass looked around. "You can't head this one up, Gil. She's one of your team. You gotta consider how that's going to look in the eyes of a jury."

"My people are the best, Jim. Sara needs the best."

"You gotta step aside," Brass said firmly. "Call Ecklie. Get someone else allocated. You can't have this one."

"I can," Sofia said.

They looked up, momentarily forgetting that Sofia still stood there.

"I'll take the case," Sofia repeated.

Catherine watched as a look of mutual understanding passed between Sofia and Grissom. She knew the two knew each other, that they had shared cases in the past and their mutual respect had developed into something of a friendship. Grissom offered her a small smile, and pulled some fresh forensic gloves from his pocket, snapping them on.

Brass looked lost for words, and after a moment shrugged. He changed track.

"So did you learn anything in there?" he asked. "You get a story?"

"She's still in shock," Catherine replied. "Holding back."

"The story's in the evidence, Jim," Grissom said. "That's all we need."

Brass shrugged. Catherine knew he was not interested in forensics until it gave him a name and a door he could hammer on.

"Well I'll leave you to it. I'm going to go canvas the neighbours. Take some statements."

He left. Catherine could hear Nick and Warrick setting up in the next room.

"Where do you want me?" she asked.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow. She realised then what she had said, but he did not laugh. Instead he pointed to the window, through which she could see the flashing lights of the ambulance.

"I want you to follow the evidence."

* * *

_A bit different to my last CSI story, perhaps, but would be interested to hear what people think, if they'd like to follow the story further. _


	2. Chapter 2

__

_Big thanks to those who left feedback, you encourage me to write more._

_

* * *

_

By the time Catherine and Sofia arrived at the hospital, Sara was gone. It was past one in the morning, the emergency room suspended in a sleepy haze, and a young nurse raised a bored eyebrow as they approached. When Sofia flashed her badge, she sat up straight. Two minutes later Catherine's behind was moulded into a hard plastic chair, and she sighed as she picked up her first magazine.

She knew where Sara was located - in a private room a short way down the corridor. Every few minutes she cast another glance at the closed door, and the two circling police officers met her eyes, companions in the long wait, in the need for enduring patience. Beside her sat Sofia, idly turning the pages of a travel magazine, but she had trekked all the way through Mexico and down to Peru before the door finally clicked open. A female doctor emerged, and one of the officers pointed her in Catherine's direction.

"LVPD?" she asked.

"Yeah," Catherine said, moving to greet her.

Sofia stood up. "How is she, doctor?"

"She's fine physically," the doctor answered. "She had some minor cuts to her right hand, we pulled some tiny shards of glass, but there's no significant injury."

"And psychologically?" Catherine asked.

The doctor hesitated. Her eyes studied Catherine.

"You're the ones who found her?" she queried.

"We were there," Sofia confirmed.

"I work with her," Catherine added.

She sensed where the doctor was heading, and tried to convey without speaking what she had seen in the small bathroom. The doctor studied her a moment longer.

"Do you know if there's any history of psychological trauma?"

Catherine was on the brink of denying it, but closed her mouth again as a memory suddenly came back to her. It was of over a year before, sitting in the dim night of Grissom's office, settled in an old chair that was split at the seams. The two of them had been there a while, a rare night in which they talked without any regard for the time. It was then that he had explained to her why Sara had been suspended from duty only a week prior. The apology Catherine had received from Sara had been brief but sincere, but she had sensed something lurking underneath, something in the back of Sara's eyes which she seemed in no hurry to discuss. Grissom had filled her in, that night in the office. She could vividly remember the feeling of shock when he told her, how quickly her irritation had evaporated into heart-clenching sympathy. He had told her everything, with Sara's permission. The one condition was that she did not pass it on, and she had kept her word. She had never even discussed it with Sara.

"There was some domestic violence when she was a kid," Catherine said. "It got rough. But nothing recent."

The doctor nodded.

"Are you saying it's related?" Sofia asked, looking confused.

"No," the doctor answered. "To be honest she didn't tell me much. I don't know if there's anything I can tell you that'll help you make sense of things. The cuts to her hand must have been in self-defence, like he struck at her with a bottle or a glass. But she denies that he laid a hand on her. There's no bruises, nothing to indicate an assault. But she's very quiet. Seems on edge. She keeps looking through the window, checking your officers are still there."

"She was the same at the scene," Catherine said. "The first thing she did was to check that I was armed."

"So what's she afraid of?" the doctor asked.

Silence greeted the question. In her mind Catherine turned the question over, but came up blank. Sara had not been assaulted. With the exception of the glass in her palm, she had not been harmed in any way. And yet still her fear lingered, even after leaving the scene.

Sofia looked equally puzzled. "We're missing something here."

"We need to talk to her," Catherine agreed.

A shrill ring interrupted them, and Catherine dug her vibrating cell phone from her jacket pocket. The caller ID identified Grissom.

"I'll see you in there," Sofia said.

Wary of the flock of warning signs on cell phone use in the hospital, Catherine retreated outside. The night had cooled somewhat, a pleasant breeze wafted through a nearby tree, and she wandered a short way from the automatic doors as she raised the ringing cell phone to her ear. Across the car park, a lone driver glided into a distant car space. The night world felt quiet and peaceful.

"Hey," she greeted.

"How is she?" he asked.

His voice registered concern, and yet behind it she could sense that he also had news. She could hear him walking across the floorboards of Sara's apartment, the echoes of Nick and Warrick in the background.

"I haven't seen her yet," Catherine replied. "Doc' says that she's physically fine. They dug some glass out of her hand, a defensive wound, but that's all they've got. They say there's no sign of assault, not a mark on her."

"That's good," Grissom said. But he sounded only mildly relieved before he ploughed on. "Listen, Catherine, we've finished going through her apartment. If you're going to talk to her, there's some things you should know."

"I'm listening."

"I think we may have been on the wrong track here," he said. "I can't find any evidence that this was a home invasion. We've checked her front door, all the windows, there's no sign of forced entry. Brass canvassed all the neighbours and not a single one heard anyone enter the floor in the hour prior. We have six empty beer bottles from the coffee table, I'm going to have them analysed for DNA, but -"

"- you don't think Sara finished them by herself," Catherine finished. "You think they shared a drink."

There was a momentary pause. She heard Grissom walk a few steps, and the background noise faded. His voice fell to a confidential hush.

"I think they shared more than that."

Catherine hesitated, mouth open slightly. She wondered if he meant what she thought he did.

"What are you saying?" she asked.

"Nick went through her trash from the bathroom," Grissom said. "He found a used condom."

"She slept with him?" Catherine asked, stunned. She herself had nothing against casual sex, yet had never thought of Sara as being the type. Sara was the type who spent her nights off alone in her apartment, reading forensic magazines, watching old movies. If she went out, it was usually with Nick or Warrick, to stop and down a beer together, let off steam. She had known of some of Sara's brief relationships, but also suspected they had never moved that fast.

"I'm going to get the lab to run the DNA," he went on. "Hopefully we get a hit."

Realising she was gaping, Catherine closed her mouth. She watched as the driver across the lot left his car, wandered towards the emergency room entrance. She tried to pull her thoughts back together, take the reins.

"Even so, Gil, if it was consensual then there's no crime. It's her business. If she invited him in, there's no wounds on her, we may not even have a crime at all. They may have just had an argument."

"I don't believe it," Grissom dismissed. "You were there, Catherine. She was scared."

Catherine sighed, closing her eyes. It was hard to tally Sara's reaction with the evidence in hand. Still she could not shake the suspicion that they were missing something.

"And he still has her gun," Grissom went on. "Theft of her weapon is enough for us to bring him in. We need to catch this guy before he uses it."

"Right," Catherine said. She tried to push away the image of what the lunatic might do with the gun, the bullets that might be sprayed up the strip of Las Vegas.

"I need you to talk to her, Catherine. Get us a name. We can run the DNA but it's going to take time and may show no ID, and Brass needs to get an APB out on this guy as soon as possible."

"I'll do my best," she promised.

"Use your charm," he said. "And Catherine?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell Sofia. Technically she's running this thing."

The call ended. She took a moment to adjust to the news before heading back, passing the reception desk where the visitor was waiting for the admissions nurse, and then back down the corridor to Sara's private room. She was glad to see the two officers were still on guard, one now clutching a half drunk cup of coffee. She paused outside the door to knock softly.

Through the window Sofia caught her eye, inviting her in.

She was ready to offer to offer sympathy as she entered, preparing to see Sara still traumatised, but stopped when she looked around the curtain. Sara was not lying down but sitting awake and alert on the side of the bed, still wearing the black overcoat Grissom had placed around her. There was a slight edginess to her expression, but there was none of the raw fear she had witnessed on the floor of the bathroom. As she moved to sit beside her, she saw Sara swallow something back and take a breath, as if ready to face what she knew had to come.

"How do you feel?" Catherine asked.

"Better," Sara said, taking another deep breath and offering a nod.

She looked for a brief moment as if she was going to say more, but fell silent. Catherine hesitated, wondering how to best broach the subject of what Grissom had told her.

"Look, Sara ..."

"It's okay," Sara interrupted quickly. "I know what you're going to ask, Catherine."

Catherine closed her mouth again. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, to hint at what had been found, but as quick as the thought came she found herself pushing it back. The priority had to be the recovery of her weapon, the recovery of the suspect. What had happened between the sheets could wait.

"What's his name?" she asked simply.

"I never knew his surname," Sara admitted. "His first name was 'Seb' - short for Sebastian."

"How do we find his surname?" Sofia asked kindly. "How do we find him?"

Sara hesitated. A distant look momentarily clouded her eyes as he mind reeled back.

"Credit card," she answered finally. "He bought us drinks, back at the bar. The Purple Panda."

Sofia nodded, pulling out her cell phone.

"I'll get Brass to run it down," she said.

She moved across the room to make the call. Catherine met Sara's eyes again, but her next question died on her lips as she saw something stir in Sara's brown eyes. When she spoke her voice was level and serious.

"He's going to kill me, Catherine."

Catherine barely had time to register the statement when the door opened again. The three of them turned to see the doctor standing there, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Sorry," she said, excusing herself. "I was just wondering if you're expecting any visitors?" She looked to Sara on the bed. "We have a man at reception asking after you."

Catherine stood up, thinking that it was probably Nick or Warrick, now finished at the scene and following up on Sara's wellbeing.

"White male," the doctor continued, "mid-thirties, black leather jacket?"

In an instant the colour drained from Sara's face, her eyes widening in panic.

"Catherine -"

"That's him?" Sofia asked.

She did not wait for an answer. Sara's expression was enough. She snapped away her cell phone, drew her weapon. Catherine followed her, drawing her own and jogging to the door. Sofia threw out a hand to block her path.

"Stay here," she ordered. "Lock the door."

There was no time to argue, and suddenly everything happened far too fast. Sofia and the two armed officers were jogging down the hallway, their feet thudding on the floor. Catherine threw the door shut and twisted the lock, her weapon grasped hard in her hands. She threw a glance to Sara, who was unarmed.

"Get down on the floor," she ordered.

Catherine stood at the door, watching until the officers turned the corner and left her sight. She listened as they ran down the next corridor, and then heard the blast of Sofia's voice across the emergency room.

"LVPD!" she shouted. "Freeze!"

Her shout was echoed by those of her compatriates, and amongst them screams of staff and patients split the ear. She heard more running, more chasing, and then -

"Get down! Drop your weapon!"

"Drop -"

But the sentence was left unfinished, interrupted by an ear-splitting gunshot which suddenly tore the air. A second later there was silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Catherine froze, her weapon gripped tight. A deathly silence settled throughout the wing. Through the window she could see only the empty corridor, the doctor and few patients having dived for cover. Next to her stood Sara, having stepped forward at the sound of the gunshot and now scanning the corridor as fearfully as she was herself.

"What the hell happened?" Sara breathed.

Her voice was low, cautious of being overheard by the enemy.

"I don't know," Catherine said quietly.

She felt the urge to go find out, to provide backup, but could not leave Sara unprotected. She forced herself to obey her training, to hold still.

Suddenly the silence broke. She heard the footsteps of someone running, and then Sofia flitted into the distant end of Catherine's vision. Her gun was still raised, her expression scared yet focused. She paused to bellow instructions.

"CATHERINE, DON'T MOVE!"

Catherine had no time to nod; Sofia had already left. She gripped her gun even tighter and backed one step into the room. She knew by Sofia's tone that their quarry was still on the loose.

She looked to Sara beside her, still in her nightie and unarmed.

"Get down," Catherine ordered. "Behind the bed."

She watched as Sara did, crouching behind the bed, one hand on the mattress. Her brown eyes were wide, her expression shell-shocked.

The seconds passed to the rhythm of her heart thumping in her chest. She kept her gun poised, ready to defend, but the corridor remained deserted. She knew she had to trust Sofia, to trust the possibility that neither of the other officers had been injured. For several minutes she stayed focused, Sara crouched low, until finally Sofia returned. She approached at a hurried walk, gun hanging from one hand, her face still tense. Catherine unlocked the door to let her in.

"What happened?" she asked quickly.

"Shot at us, but missed," Sofia reported, her eyes sweeping over Sara to see that she was safe. "He escaped on foot into the streets. We've called for backup, dog squad, they'll search for him."

Catherine nodded, relieved. The images of wounded officers evaporated. She tried again to collect her thoughts, and her eyes landed on Sara, who had stood up again.

"We gotta get her outta here," Catherine said to Sofia. "Take her somewhere safe."

"I'll bring a car 'round," Sofia said. "Can you take her in?"

"Yeah," Catherine replied, nodding.

She knew that Sofia could not leave the scene, would have to remain to meet the backup forces, to aid in the search and clean up the scene. Statements would be taken, a CSI summoned, and then there would be the media, always tuned into the police radio frequency.

"Stay here," Sofia said.

She departed and Catherine locked the door again. Sara still stood in the centre of the room, at an apparent loss for words.

"Get dressed," Catherine said kindly.

She pulled at the curtain, tugging it part way around the bed, and nodded to a bag of clothes that they had brought from Sara's apartment.

Sara took a shaky breath, breaking out of her stunned reverie.

"Right," she said.

As Sara moved behind the curtain, Catherine returned her firm gaze back to the corridor, every fibre of her being still on alert. She waited only a minute before Sofia returned, at the same time as Sara emerged from the behind the curtain, fully dressed and ready to go.

"Put these on," Sofia said.

She handed them both bullet-proof vests. Catherine did not argue, slipping it over her head and strapping it on. After Sara had done the same, Sofia took Sara's elbow and led her toward the door. They flanked her as they led her hurriedly down the corridor, Catherine with her gun held steady. Several of the nurses and patients who had dived for cover looked upon her gun with fear. She tried to pass them reassuring looks, but there was no time. She had to trust that Sofia would sort it out later.

They hurried through the automatic doors and Catherine felt the fresh, cool night air on her skin. Barely a few feet away Sofia's car was waiting, the flashing police lights lighting up the parking lot. Sofia took Sara and installed her in the front passenger seat, and then returned to Catherine, pushing the keys into her hand.

"Drive straight there," she said. "Don't stop."

"I got it," Catherine said.

In one swift tug she strapped herself in, and turned the ignition. The car purred. A moment later they had left the parking lot, and pulled out onto the main road.

Catherine kept her eyes sharply peeled as she sped down the road, wary that their would-be assassin could be anywhere nearby. But he was not in obvious sight on the brightly lit sidewalks that bordered the main road, and she considered that he had likely taken a back road, somewhere with less streetlights and no witnesses. A mile or two down the road she felt the tightness in her chest ease slightly, and she focused instead on the road, their police lights carving them an express path back to the station.

She cast a glance to Sara, who was silent in the passenger seat.

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh."

Sara quickly nodded, but her face was white. Her eyes darted back and forth across the streetscape.

"Take a deep breath," Catherine advised. "You're safe. It's going to be fine."

Sara nodded again, but Catherine bit back her next words as her cell phone rang, shrill in her pocket. She took one hand off the wheel, wrestling to dig it out. Seeing the caller was Grissom, she raised it to her ear. He did not even give her a chance to declare her name before his words flew at her.

"Catherine, what the _hell _happened? You're all over the radio, they say he shot up the hospital."

"We're fine," she answered. "He came looking for her, but we were tipped off. He resisted arrest, got a shot off and fled into the streets."

"Is anyone hurt?" he asked quickly.

"Everyone's okay," she replied. "He's a bad shot. Missed."

"They say you're on your way back to the lab with Sara."

"Yeah," she replied. She cast a glance at the streetscape, taking in their position. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay," he said. "We're on our way, we're going to meet you there."

"Right," she said. "See you soon."

She clicked the phone off. She glanced again at Sara in time to see her take a steadying breath, staring ahead as if making a conscious effort to calm herself. A second glance revealed she was trembling, her hands white and tense on her thighs.

"Stick with me," Catherine said.

Deciding that Sara seemed in no condition to handle any of her burning questions, Catherine yet again held them back, and they rode the last few miles of the night streets in silence. She was relieved when she saw the police station ahead, the LVPD logo lit bright on the side of the building, and slowed the car to pull into the staff parking lot at the rear.

A moment later, three levels up, she swung into an empty space. She killed the engine, and silence fell. She unsnapped her belt, but watched as Sara's fingers trembled, reaching for her own.

"I got it," she said gently, reaching over to press the release.

Sara gave an almost imperceptible nod, but in the next breath seemed to collect herself, opening her door and climbing out unaided. As Catherine joined her they were lit by a pair of piercing headlights, as Nick pulled his black car in beside them. Doors thudded as the three men jumped out, all their eyes immediately landing on Sara.

"You okay?" Nick asked, reaching her first.

Sara caught his arm as he reached for her.

"I'm fine," she said, making an attempt to smile.

Nick looked doubtful as he took in her appearance, but did not challenge the statement. Grissom did not even pretend to believe her. His eyes narrowed with concern as he took in her trembling, and then the vests they both wore. Warrick opened his mouth to comment, but Catherine quickly cut him off.

"Let's go inside," she said pointedly.

Catching her look, the three men fell quiet, and walked with her to escort Sara into the building. They were barely a few feet inside when it became apparent that everyone had heard the news. The security guard at the entrance looked up sharply as they approached, and their colleagues in the hallways stared. Catherine shot them looks like bullets, walking Sara straight past. When they reached the lab itself, Greg skipped out, his face wracked with concern.

"Sara, I heard, I -"

Catherine cut in. "Greg, we need you to go inform security, make sure they're vigilant. No one comes in here who isn't employed."

He looked taken aback, but quickly recovered, eager to help.

"Right," he said, and disappeared.

They managed to round the last corner without interruption, and Catherine steered Sara into the deserted tea room. Nick pulled out a soft chair for her and she slowly sank into it, leaning forward to put her face in her hands. Over the top of her head Catherine met Grissom's questioning eyes, and she passed him a grave look to communicate Sara's condition. He received it perfectly, his eyes swimming with concern.

Nick pulled out a chair for himself, sitting directly in front of Sara. He placed a comforting hand on her knee.

"Hey, it's okay," he said kindly. "It's gonna be all right."

It was a long moment before she replied, but eventually she raised her head. Her face was still white.

"I'm fine," she said, words trembling. "It just took me by surprise, you know?"

"Yeah, I reckon it would," Nick said sympathetically. "Sure scared the crap out of us when we heard."

"You're safe now, Sara," Grissom said. "You're in the safest place in the city."

She nodded, though Catherine had the impression that she had not even heard his words, that they had moved through her without even being decoded.

Nick pointed to Sara's vest. "You need a hand with that?"

He moved without waiting for an answer, reaching around to her back to unstrap the kevlar. Catherine sensed Warrick at her own back, pulling at the straps. She thanked him as he freed her, lifting it over her head. He laid it aside on the table, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze.

As she looked back to Sara a large shadow entered her peripheral vision, and she looked around in time to see Ecklie stride into the room. His mouth was open as if about to launch an inquisition, but he stopped short as he saw Sara. His face caved into concern, and he shot questioning looks at Catherine and Grissom.

Before either could explain he addressed Sara, his voice tinged with a degree of genuine concern.

"Do you need medical attention?"

At his voice Sara's head snapped up. Her expression hardened with instinctive defence.

"I'm fine," she said, nodding convincingly. "No one was hurt."

His eyes swept over her body language, over Nick's comforting hand on her arm, but he seemed to decide not to challenge her.

"Well ... that's good," he said, nodding awkwardly.

Catherine watched as the two sized each other up, but the expression in Sara's eyes seemed to keep him in the doorway.

"I talked with Detective Curtis," he said, addressing the room. "They're launching a search of the neighboring streets. Dog squad's on the way. The good news is he left his car in the parking lot. They've run the plate. His name's Sebastian Reed. We're getting a warrant for his arrest, and sending officers to his house. If he returns there they'll pick him up. It's only a matter of time before we catch the guy."

"Well that's good," Nick agreed, giving Sara a supportive smile.

But Sara's expression was blank as she observed Ecklie. Her eyes were cold.

"We're going to need all your statements," Ecklie went on. "Catherine, you take Sara's -"

"I'm not giving a statement," Sara interrupted.

The room fell quiet. Ecklie stared. Out of the corner of her eye Catherine saw Grissom's eyes hone in on Sara, observing her closely.

"Look, Sara ..." Ecklie hesitated, trying to be understanding. "We all know what happened."

"I doubt it," she said swiftly.

"We know he was your date," he persisted. "They found the evidence in your trash can."

"That's not relevant," Sara said coldly.

Catherine drew in a breath, praying that Ecklie would stop, but he pressed on, his voice firming.

"Sara, I know this is uncomfortable. I understand you're upset. But we have a guy on the loose out there with your gun, using our officers as target practice. It's only blind luck that no one was killed. We all have a duty here to protect the public, and to bring this guy into custody as soon as possible. We can't charge him without knowing the details of what he did to you."

"There was no crime," Sara said.

"You slept with him," Ecklie said. "We got a 911."

"We slept together at four. You didn't get the call til twelve."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Ecklie stared at Sara in disbelief, but Sara's expression was deathly calm. After a moment she stood up, shrugging Nick's hand off her.

"I'm not pressing charges," she said firmly.

And with that, she left, walking determinedly down the corridor. It was a moment before anyone spoke.

"Anyone else make sense of that?" Nick asked.

"Is she protecting him?" Warrick asked, looking confused.

But Catherine's eyes fell on Grissom, who was staring blankly ahead in wonder, as if in a haze of enlightenment.

"Gil?" she asked.

He met her eyes slowly, as if he had momentarily forgotten she was there.

"I think I'm beginning to understand this," he said.

He stood up, digging hurriedly in his pocket for his wallet. He passed a note to Warrick.

"Warrick, go downstairs. Buy her something to eat and a coffee."

Warrick looked bewildered at the instructions, but did not interrupt.

"Nick, go find Sara. Be gentle with her, bring her to my office."

Nick nodded. "Okay."

"Catherine -"

She looked up.

"- Come with me."

She followed him to the door. He was already several steps beyond Ecklie when he remembered him, and briefly turned around.

"We'll take care of this."

"Gil," Conrad replied, looking fed up, "She's all yours."

* * *

_Sincere thanks to all those who left feedback on the last chapter, you guys are so motivating! _


	4. Chapter 4

Walking down the corridor, Catherine tried to ignore the stares that met her echoing footsteps. Lab technicians raised their eyes through the office windows, undisguised curiosity on their faces as they tracked her. She realised then she was a celebrity, the potential epicentre of a drama that fluttered the edges of their mundane boredom. It was with one hard sweeping look that she sent them scurrying back to their tasks. Even so, it was not until they rounded the corner into Grissom's quiet office, and Ecklie had left for downstairs, that she felt safe to speak.

"You gonna fill me in?" she asked.

Though the corridor outside was empty, he kept his voice low. As he spoke he tugged at the cord of his blinds, shutting off witnesses.

"In August 1973 four bank employees in Sweden were taken hostage by a man named Jan Olsson. He held them for a ransom of three million kroner. They were held for five days while negotiations were carried out, but when the talks ultimately failed, the police used gas to quell the situation, releasing the hostages unharmed. But when police attempted to charge the offender, the hostages leapt to his defence, refusing to testify. Experts who studied the encounter later called it Stockholm Syndrome - a condition in which a life-threatening situation forces the victim to identify with their captor in order to survive."

Catherine nodded. Somewhere in the back of her mind a distant memory stirred; she had heard of it before.

"You think he held her captive?"

Grissom paused after closing the last blind, blocking the corridor from sight. The light in the office dimmed.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But whatever he did do was never physical. Something frightened her, Catherine. Perhaps bad enough that her fear gave way to mere instinct."

"Leaving what?" Catherine asked. "Empathy?"

"The one thing that could save her life," Grissom replied. "In that situation the smallest niceties can be interpreted as kindnesses. The sparing of her life becomes a sign of love and decency."

"I don't believe it," Catherine said. "She's been in the force a long time. She knows what crime is."

"She said she slept with him at four. We didn't get the call until twelve. What happened in those intervening eight hours?"

Catherine shrugged. "If she'd been to bed with him, I expect she slept."

"Then why doesn't she testify?"

"I don't know," she admitted, sighing. "Maybe the reason just went back downstairs."

"Ecklie?" Grissom asked, looking unconvinced.

"If she's feeling vulnerable the last thing she'd want is to be interviewed by him, laying open her sex life to the scrutiny of everyone in the building."

Grissom paused, taking in the idea. After a moment of silence Catherine sighed.

"All right," she conceded. "Let's say it's the Syndrome. What's the plan?"

"We talk to her," Grissom said simply. "Before it's too late."

At that moment Catherine heard footsteps and turned to see Warrick, Nick and Sara all come through the doorway. Sara looked uncomfortable, but resigned to her summons, and Nick had a hand lightly on her shoulder. Warrick stepped forward to set several coffees and salad rolls on the coffee table near Grissom's couch.

"Nick?"

Grissom beckoned Nick and Warrick back to the doorway, and the trio slipped briefly back into the corridor. Through a crack in the door Catherine saw Grissom talking to them in whispers, Nick and Warrick nodding helpfully.

"Come sit down," Catherine said.

She sat on the small old two seater and held out a coffee. Sara hesitated a moment before giving in, sitting beside her. She stared at the coffee in her hands with a morose expression.

The door to the office clicked closed as Grissom returned. He moved a chair close.

"Sara," Catherine began gently, "We need to talk."

Sara looked away, dread etched into her face. For a brief moment Catherine wondered if she would bolt, but the moment passed and she did not move.

"I'm not telling Ecklie," Sara said flatly.

"We understand," Catherine said sympathetically. "We're not suggesting you do. We just thought that maybe ..."

She trailed off at the look on Sara's face. Her sentence was finished by Grissom.

"... that maybe you could tell us," he said gently.

Catherine watched as Sara met Grissom's concerned eyes. As they linked something in Sara's seemed to soften, as if she was both touched and drained.

"We're not going to just leave you with this, Sara," Catherine added.

There was a momentary silence as Sara turned the coffee with her fingers. Somewhere in the distance a phone rang.

"We just want to help," Grissom said gently. "If you don't want to press charges, that's fine. We just need to know you're okay."

There was another brief silence. Sara did not react.

"Off the record?" Catherine suggested gently.

"Nothing goes any further than this room," Grissom said. "You know you can trust us."

It was this remark that finally caused her to raise her eyes. Under the strength of Sara's brown gaze Catherine wondered if she was recalling the existing promise that both herself and Grissom had kept; the haunting secrets of Sara's past that both of them had been trusted with. At last, she nodded.

"I was going to tell you," she said softly, looking toward Catherine. "But then at the hospital things just ..."

"Got out of hand," Catherine agreed.

Sara nodded.

"I'd been drinking," she confessed softly. "I was alone at the bar. It was quiet. After a while he approached. We got talking, one thing led to another and ..."

"You both went back to your place," Catherine finished. To save Sara the pain of stepping through the obvious she added, "What time did you get there?"

"Close to four," Sara said. "I fell asleep, didn't wake until after six. When I did, I saw he was gone. I got up, found him in the kitchen. I thought he was just getting a drink, maybe a snack, that he hadn't wanted to wake me. But ..."

She trailed off, and Catherine saw a pained expression pierce her eyes.

"What did you see?" Grissom asked gently.

"I think ... that he hadn't realised who I was."

"Who you were?" Grissom repeated.

"You mean CSI?" Catherine asked.

Sara gave a faint nod.

"He had my gun," she went on. "He'd found my wallet, my ID. He was pissed."

"You mean angry?" Grissom asked.

But Catherine saw a dark shadow settle in Sara's eyes. She was again staring at her coffee, her fingers white and tense on the cup. Suddenly her eyes seemed to be glistening.

Sensing they were close, Catherine placed her hand lightly on Sara's knee.

"Sara ... did he use your gun against you? Threaten you?"

It was a long moment before she replied, slowly lifting her eyes to meet theirs.

"He terrorised me for six hours."

The words slammed Catherine straight-on, and for a brief moment she was winded by them. She heard herself take in breath, checking Sara's haunted eyes for a lie, but there was none to be found. There was new moisture in Grissom's eyes as he stared at her, momentarily lost for words.

"God, Sara ..." she started, but could not go on. The events of the evening played again her in mind with renewed meaning. She saw again Sara's hand reaching for her leather jacket, peeling it back to check that she was armed, her need for reassurance in the time thereafter that she was safe. The real truth, so lost at the time, was more painful than she had imagined.

Automatically Catherine slipped her arm around Sara's back. Despite everything, Sara looked remarkably calm.

It was several moments before Grissom recovered.

"Sara," he said, "tell us precisely what he did."

"He held me at gunpoint," she said. "Had it trained on my stomach. He was waving my badge, shaking it in the air, demanding to know what it meant. I told the truth, said I was CSI. He hadn't known. He flipped."

"I don't understand," Grissom said. "Why did it matter?"

"Does he have a thing against law enforcement?" Catherine asked. "Or against female cops?"

"I didn't find out why until later," Sara said. "He locked my door, so I couldn't escape, and made me kneel on the floor. He circled for a long time, agitated, hurling questions. I had to answer them. He threatened to kill me, and I knew for sure that he would."

"What questions?" Grissom asked.

"About our jobs. What we do. For a while he just kept getting madder, and then he was crying."

"Crying?" Grissom repeated.

"I didn't dare ask questions," Sara said. "His finger was slipping on the trigger. He was rambling, talking to himself. Pacing. It was hours before I pieced together what he was saying."

She drifted off. Catherine continued rubbing her back, hoping to ease her on.

"Sara," Catherine said carefully, "Why was he crying?"

"He mentioned a girl's name," Sara answered. "After a while I realised he was repeating it. He chanted it like he was talking to her, at one point asking her forgiveness, in others vowing to kill me. She was his girlfriend. I think it was serious."

"Was?" Grissom asked.

Catherine felt on edge, sensing the answer.

"She's dead," Sara clarified. "And then I learned that it was at our hands. She'd been charged with murder - one he swears she didn't commit. After she was charged she killed herself. She took an overdose, enough pills to down an elephant, and he found her on the bathroom floor. He rushed to her aid, called an ambulance, but it was too late."

Sara spoke in detached monotone, staring blankly ahead, and Catherine tightened her arm. She tried to take in the words, to wrestle them for control.

"He blamed you for her death?" Catherine asked.

Sara nodded. "Yeah."

"So this is about vengeance," Grissom concluded. "He seeks to kill you to avenge her suicide."

Sara nodded. Catherine saw tears now clearly in her eyes.

"The kicker is, when I met him, he said he was putting his life back together. He'd alluded to a recent break-up. I didn't think anything of it. He was sweet, charming, sincere ... he'd been getting help, seeing a psychologist. Moving on."

"Until he discovered your identity," Grissom said.

"Yeah," Sara said, voice trembling. "He hated himself, was _disgusted _with himself, felt he'd betrayed her. When he finally told me the story he was crying, breaking down. He sank to the floor next to me, sobbing. I reached to comfort him, to touch him, for a second he accepted it, and I thought it was over. Then he suddenly jabbed the gun back into my chest, flew into grief-stricken rage. He was screaming, and some time after that you got the call."

Sara drifted back into silence, and in the wake of her words, Catherine closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. At last, she understood. She understood Sara's terror, and yet also her empathy and reluctance to testify. Yet though she understood where Sara was coming from, she herself felt no sympathy, and hesitated for a moment, wondering how to bring Sara around.

"Do you pity him?" Grissom asked gently.

"It wasn't his fault," Sara said quietly. "Grief does things to people, scars people. If he'd known who I was he would never have approached me. And I know what it's like to the body of someone you love at your feet."

Catherine took another breath, trying to steady herself yet finding little self-control left.

"Sara," she said, her patience ebbing away, "this was _not _your fault."

"He held a _gun _to your head," Grissom pointed out firmly. "He threatened to _kill _you."

"He didn't hurt me," Sara said calmly.

Catherine remembered Sara sitting terrified on the bathroom floor, and considered that that was a matter of opinion.

"He _shot _at Sofia," Grissom went on. "He entered that hospital to kill you, Sara. He nearly did kill Sofia. He shot at her across the emergency room. Are you telling me that's not a crime? That we should condone her attempted murder?"

Sara did not answer, looking slightly confused.

"Sara," Catherine interjected, "let me tell you something. A nice guy, if he doesn't like you, he leaves. If he resents your role as a forensic scientist - as someone who uses objective evidence to uphold the law - he might even storm out. What he doesn't do track down your gun, press the barrel against your chest, and threaten to kill you. He doesn't make you kneel in your own living room to beg for your life. And he certainly doesn't follow you to the hospital afterward to attempt to finish the job."

She paused, watching as her words rattled through Sara. She put a hand over her eyes, looking upset and confused.

"He abused you, Sara," Grissom said calmly. "He broke your trust. Can you tell yourself that?"

Sara did not reply, eyes behind her hand. Catherine felt her tremble under her arm.

"I need you to think about this," Grissom went on. "If this had happened to someone else - to anyone else in our team - and you had been called to their aid, how would you feel?"

Sara lifted her moist eyes to Grissom's. She could not seem to bring herself to answer. A single tear escaped her eye, and she quickly caught it with a fingertip.

"There's a name for these types of situations, Sara," Grissom said softly. "A term I think you may have heard of. A condition which may help explain what you're feeling."

Sara's eyes narrowed, reading Grissom, and then her tears gave way to disbelief. "Stockholm Syndrome?"

"We think so," Catherine said gently, rubbing her back.

"Unless there's something else," Grissom invited. "Another reason you feel unable to testify."

Sara swallowed in disbelief. Further stray tears rolled down her cheeks, but she did not catch them.

"No," she admitted, still sounding surprised. "It's just ... you know I ..."

She trailed off. Grissom raised an eyebrow, making his point. A moment later Catherine felt Sara sigh heavily under her arm as realisation sank heavily into her.

"We can't decide for you," Catherine said. "It's up to you. But what we can say is that you don't have to go through this alone. You have our support."

"We'll come with you to court," Grissom offered sincerely. "Stay with you through the whole thing."

There was a moment in which Sara looked ready to resign, to agree, but then she sighed again.

"I can't think about this," she said, looking shaken. "I need some time."

Catherine nodded, knowing it was all they could ask for.

"Sure," she said quickly, stroking her back. "It's okay."

"Take your time," Grissom said.

Sara wearily nodded her gratitude. Catherine's eyes drifted to the food and drinks they had not touched.

"When's the last time you ate something?" she asked.

Sara half-heartedly shrugged one shoulder. Grissom pushed a roll into her lap.

"Eat," he said gently.

Catherine took her coffee. It was luke-warm, but she was glad of the caffeine. She knew the wait for news would be long.

* * *

_Originally intended to end this chapter with a cliffhanger, but thought I'd give it a break. This feels like a more natural ending. _


	5. Chapter 5

Time crept slowly toward the pre-dawn hours, and still there was no news. In truth, Catherine felt anxious. She knew Brass, Sofia and the team were still combing the streets, but there was nothing they could do to aid them. She knew without being told that their job was to keep Sara grounded, to keep her safe while the hunt proceeded.

Typing a report on her laptop, Catherine momentarily lifted her eyes as Sara drifted past the window. After eating, Sara had rejected their suggestion that she rest on the office couch for a while, and instead hoisted a brave face and went to reassure Nick and Warrick that she was fine. They had all lingered in the lunch room for nearly half an hour, feeling the wary apprehension that their quarry may be anywhere just outside, ready to storm the building with Sara's gun. But as the minutes ticked away and the conversation ebbed, Grissom suggested they return to work. He had ordered Sara not to leave the floor, and gradually the group had channeled their nerves into their leftover paperwork.

Even so, Catherine had found it hard to concentrate.

It was close to 5:00AM before the uneasy tension broke. Catherine was typing the conclusion to her report when she heard loud footsteps marching down the corridor. She looked up, catching Grissom's eyes as they heard Brass hurl a question to someone out of sight.

"Where are they?"

Whoever it was must have directed them, as she then saw Brass marching past their window, and he pushed the door open without knocking. Behind him, Nick, Warrick and Sara all hurried forward.

"Is there news?" Grissom asked quickly.

"You catch him?" Catherine asked, standing up.

"We got a response to our APB," he said. "Cab driver reports seeing him. They've got him downstairs."

In an instant they had leapt to their feet, hurrying behind Brass towards to the elevators. As they did, Catherine saw Grissom take Sara's elbow, and Catherine found herself more wary of her own gun holstered on her waist. The interview rooms were not behind a secure entry doors like the lab was.

When they reached the rooms they met by Sofia. She looked pumped with adrenaline, but also wore a slightly frayed demeanour of an exhausting search. She had her hair tied back in a pony tail, as though it had got in the way in the hours spent jogging the streets. Her eyes swept over Sara, checking she was okay, but she did not comment.

"He says he was flagged down five blocks from the hospital. Description matches our target. Says the guy was running when he pulled over to pick him up, that he was panicking."

As they reached the doorway an officer rushed past, entering the room and spreading a large map over the table. The nervous middle-eastern cab driver hovered nearby.

"Show us where you picked him up," Sofia said, rejoining him.

The man nervously examined the map.

"The hospital's here," Brass said helpfully, pointing. "You were close by, right?"

The man pointed to the main road intersection, less than a mile from the hospital. The location made Catherine uneasy; she must have just missed him in the drive back with Sara.

"Was he carrying a gun?" Catherine asked. "It would have looked like this."

She pulled out her own to show him. The driver nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "In his pants. He had it tucked in his pants, you know?"

Catherine sighed inwardly. Part of her had hoped he had abandoned it somewhere along the way, that he was now unarmed.

Grissom looked at the man in disbelief. "You picked up an armed man in a panic. You didn't think what that meant? You didn't think to call the police?"

"I didn't know!" the man said hysterically. "Everyone I drive is armed. Everyone in a hurry. I didn't know 'til later. I heard the radio, I came here."

"All right," Nick cut in kindly. "You did a real good job. Did the right thing, okay? But tell me, where did you take him? You dropped him off somewhere, right?"

"I don't know," the man said. "I drove for a long time. He used my phone, made me drive him to a house."

"A house?" Sofia repeated. "What house?"

"Show us on the map," Brass said hurriedly.

The man returned his gaze to the map, then shifted it over until he was focused on an area in the outer suburbs. His finger tracked a main road to a turn-off, then he squinted to find a name.

"Here," he said. "Grove Street."

"Grove Street," Warrick repeated, eyes widening.

Catherine felt sudden alarm rise in her own chest. "Are you sure?"

The man nodded. Brass and Sofia looked confused at its significance.

"What?" Brass asked.

"That's my street," Nick said, in stunned wonder.

XXX

"You drove him to the street of a CSI?" Grissom asked, incredulous.

"I didn't know!" the man repeated. "I know _nothing_. He told me to take him there, I take him there. But no one was home. There was no car -"

"Yeah, I'm here," Nick said, still alarmed.

"How'd he get your address?" Catherine wondered aloud.

She glanced to Sara for answers, but Sara looked equally as shocked as everyone else.

"You said he used your phone," Brass said. "Who did he call?"

"I don't know," the man repeated.

"Let me see it."

The driver handed over his phone, and Brass took it, finding the last number dialled. He pressed dial and raised it to his ear.

"Directory assistance," he reported, handing it back to the driver.

"To do that he would have needed at least your name," Grissom pointed out.

Warrick turned to Sara. "You gave him our names?"

"I didn't give any names," Sara said.

She spoke her words calmly, but Catherine saw a shadow of her earlier trauma in her eyes.

"You gave him somethin'," Nick pressed. "Millions of homes in Vegas, you sayin' it's coincidence he went for mine?"

"Nick," Grissom said firmly.

Nick fell silent. Sara looked deeply uncomfortable, but stood her ground.

"What time was it?" Sofia asked the driver. "When you left him there?"

"I didn't leave him there," the driver said, frustrated as though he was repeating himself. "No one was home. He made me keep driving."

Everyone paused, stunned at his words.

"To where?" Brass asked.

The driver searched the map again, then slid it sideways to another suburb. Catherine felt everything tighten as he paused over her own.

"I left him here," the man said, pointing.

She heard no more as she fled the room, the door slamming behind her.

XXX

"Catherine!"

She heard pounding footsteps behind her as she jogged up the corridor, simultaneously digging for her car keys and cell phone. But she had barely gone twenty feet when strong hands grasped her shoulders, jerking her to a stop. It was Warrick. His touch was kind, but insistent.

"Lindsay's at home," she explained in a rush. "With my mother. She'll be asleep, she'll -"

"Stay calm," he said firmly, holding her still.

"She's my _child_!" Catherine said. She felt anger swell within her that he did not understand, that he himself had no children.

"You can't get there in time," Grissom said, calmly logical. "The police can be there long before you can, Catherine."

"I'm sure she's fine," Nick added. "Driver said he dropped him off well over an hour ago. If anything was going to happen, would have been long done by now. We would've heard."

Catherine felt her pounding anger abate slightly at this logical thought.

"Cops are on their way," Warrick said gently. "They'll check anyway, but they'll both be okay. Probably just asleep. Okay?"

She tried to calm, but the thought of Lindsay innocently asleep while the murderer prowled outside the window only filled her with anxiety.

"He's not after Lindsay," Sara said, looking hard into her eyes. "He's after _you_, Catherine."

"He's out there," Nick said. "You rush out there you're only putting yourself in danger. Much as you love Lindsay, you're no good to her dead."

His words struck her, and she knew he was right. As she felt her anger abate Warrick eased his grip on her.

"All right?" he asked gently.

She nodded, and as she opened her eyes she felt suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. Her colleagues were circled around her as though ready to wrestle her to a halt.

"Okay," she said, as he let go.

She tried to collect her thoughts, and dug again in her coat for her cell phone.

"Let me call," Sara said, gently reaching forward.

Catherine knew the reason without having to ask; that Sara thought Catherine would only scare her daughter if she rang in a panic.

She handed it over, and Sara retreated a short way down the corridor, dialing and raising the phone to her ear. A brief silence broke over the group. For a long minute or two, they watched Sara pace, trying to raise someone on the other end of the line. At last, someone appeared to answer. From Sara's manner Catherine could tell it was Lindsay.

"Yeah, it's Sara."

A smile broke over Sara's face as Lindsay recognised her.

"Yeah, I know it's late. I'm actually calling on behalf on your Mom, we were hoping we could have a quick word with your Grandma."

There was a pause.

"Yeah, I know she's asleep. I need you to go wake her for me, okay?"

There was another long pause as Sara paced.

"Hi," she said at last. "No, she's fine. She's here with me. We just have an unusual situation here, and I need you to do something for me."

Catherine could only imagine her mother's confusion, but Sara appeared to handle it well. As Catherine listened in, she managed to maneuvre her family safe into the bedroom and get them to lock the door. She avoided all mention of a gun-wielding criminal, making it sound like it a precaution against a far-fetched possibility that someone may try to head for the house, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Two minutes later, they were talking like old friends. Catherine knew Sara's aim was to distract her from the situation, but to keep her on the line until the police arrived.

"They're safe," Warrick said reassuringly, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Catherine nodded, feeling relieved. And yet still none of it made sense. But she did not ask questions as they all retreated to a nearby meeting room with Sara, listening in on her conversation. As long as Sara kept talking, Catherine felt at ease, and prayed that the police would arrive soon. But five, ten minutes passed, and still Sara was talking. They were approaching fifteen minutes before Sara suddenly looked up at her, her eyes relating that the police had finally arrived.

"Yeah," Sara said happily, "Go let them in."

A minute later she was speaking with the police officer, and then finally ended the call.

"They're safe, Catherine," Sara reported. "They were both asleep, heard nothing, police report no one visible in the street. They're going to search, but if he was ever there, he's long gone."

Catherine felt herself relax. Part of her wanted to ring her family back and speak to them herself, yet knew this would only provoke questions she did not want to answer. She closed her eyes, trying to rub away her confusion with her fingers.

It was no comfort that Sara seemed equally confused.

"I promise you, Catherine," she said sincerely. "I never gave him your name. I didn't mention anyone."

"I believe you," Catherine said, with a sigh.

And she did. Sara had told them what had happened, and her confusion now was sincere. But that did not make her feel any better. The truth was that the one possibility Catherine could find was the one she did not want to suggest; that far from being a coincidental encounter, that the man had deliberately tracked Sara to the bar, knowing full well who she was. It was possible he could have been doing his homework for months prior, but that after his failed attempt on Sara's life, had resorted in fury to trying to track the rest of them. And yet this did not entirely make sense either. Sara had seemed so sure when telling her story that he had been stunned to learn who she was. She had explained that part in detail. And if he had sought to kill them from the start, his seduction of her would have been unlikely. Furthermore, he would have brought his own gun.

"I don't understand," she confessed.

"There must be something," Grissom pressed, looking to Sara. "Something you overlooked."

"I told you everything," Sara said. "I never mentioned names."

Grissom cast a glance to Nick and Warrick, evidently aware of his promise to not relate the story. He chose his words carefully.

"When you first met him," he said gently, "Are you sure that was coincidence?"

Sara stared, the suggestion rattling her.

"He had no idea who I was," she said firmly. "It was chance. It was -"

She broke off suddenly, her expression darkening into dread. She stared without seeing.

"What?" Catherine asked quickly.

"We need to go back," she said slowly.

"Back?" Grissom asked.

But she did not explain as she pushed herself suddenly to her feet, and pushed Catherine's cell phone back to her.

"We'd better hurry," she said.

It was in Catherine's mind to argue, to tell her that leaving the building was a bad idea, but the words did not even hit her tongue before Sara was already out the door, leaving them with no choice but to follow.

XXX

* * *

_Considering what an uneventful chapter this was (purely transitional, I guess), I spent a ridiculous amount of time debating how to go about it. Originally was going to have Catherine race out to her house, but thought that as much fun as that would be, it would be completely unrealistic that anyone would let her put herself in danger like that (or Sara, for that matter). The result of leaving them there makes it quite boring (IMO), but I feel it rang a little truer. Hope you're all still with me._


	6. Chapter 6

By the time they reached Sara's apartment building, the first vehicles of rush hour were trickling into the streets. A purple tinge peeled at the edges of the night sky as sunrise approached, but Catherine knew they would not be heading home as they usually did when the sun rose. Instead she never felt more awake, and never more exposed. As they left the car danger prickled at her skin from the hundred shadowy corners up and down the street. She instinctively drew her weapon, clicking off the safety. Next to her Grissom put a hand to Sara's back, urging her quickly inside.

"Let's make this quick," she suggested. "We don't want to be here long."

"This guy could be anywhere," Warrick agreed, glancing around warily.

Sara did not comment, but had appeared subdued since hearing the taxi driver's account of events, the news that he had escalated to tracking down her colleagues. As they climbed the stairs Grissom kept a hand to her back, and when they reached her door he took her keys to unlock it, and edged his gun into the room first. The room was still, an eerie portrait of frozen chaos. As they entered Nick swept through the room with his weapon aloft, double checking they were alone. Catherine locked the apartment door with a click.

"Where do we start?" Warrick asked, casting an eye around the mess.

A shrill beep from Catherine's cell phone broke the quiet. With two fingers she jabbed at button to ignore the message. She knew it was her mother itching to interrogate her, and impatiently pushed her phone deeper into her pocket. She was in no mood to hear the tirade.

"You should call your family," Sara said, concerned.

"Later," Catherine replied. She holstered her weapon. "Let's focus on the job."

"What are we searching for?" Nick asked.

Sara did not reply immediately, but turned slowly on the spot, her eyes turning over the ruins.

"You made it sound like we were looking for something specific," Grissom said.

Catherine watched as Sara took a deep breath, drawing strength from somewhere within.

"I had a photo," she said. "One of us."

"You're saying the photo could identify us?" Nick asked. "Tell him our names?"

"Our names were visible on our vests," Sara said. "If you take the least common surname, it wouldn't be hard to get an address."

Catherine inwardly cursed her ex-husband's surname, but forced the thought back.

"Where did you keep the photo?"

"He moved it around."

She did not elaborate, and for a moment Catherine observed her as she stared around the room with remote distance. Her eyes lingered on the floor in the centre of the room, where a puddle of broken glass glittered against the carpet.

"We went over this room," Warrick said. "I can guarantee you there was no photo."

"I reckon he took it," Nick agreed. "There were no case files here, no paperwork, nothing else that could've led him to us."

"Let's check anyway," Grissom pressed.

They began searching, and Catherine crouched down, turning over the debris. She stacked the discarded forensic magazines, pausing to notice the violent crinkles in the glossy covers. She tried to picture the degree of aggression necessary to create the effect, the pages crinkled as if an earthquake had rippled across the cover. Across the room Sara had not moved, but stared at a blank stretch of carpet. Suddenly Catherine could picture those six hours in which she had been terrorised, made to kneel on that very spot of carpet with her own gun being pressed to her head, her own possessions hurled at her like missiles.

The moment was broken when Grissom's cell phone rang. He quickly answered the call, and drifted away a few steps as he spoke. Catherine continued to sort through the debris as she listened in, until finally he ended the call and turned back to Sara.

"That was Sofia," he said. "She wants you to pack some clothes while we're here. They're going to organise somewhere safe for you to stay."

"I don't need a babysitter," she said.

"It's not just you," Grissom countered. "We're all going." He looked to Catherine. "She has your mother packing you a bag."

"A safe house?" Warrick asked sceptically. "Wait, there's no telling how long it'll take to find him -"

"Could be days, weeks, never," Nick added.

"It's out of our hands," Grissom said firmly. "Our team's been grounded. As long as he's out there bent on killing us, the risk is deemed unacceptable."

There was a brief moment, and then Sara nodded.

"Pack some clothes and anything you need."

XXX

It was not long later that they gave up hope of finding the photo, and were forced to conclude that it was in their quarry's gun-toting hands. Not wanting to linger, they escorted Sara back to the car with her bag, and drove back to the station to submit themselves to the waiting police protection. They were in no hurry as they made their way through the maze of back corridors - the small wheels of Sara's case whirring against the floor - until they rounded the corner toward the interview rooms and Catherine nearly collided with the last person she had expected to find waiting. His clean white suit looked as impeccable as ever, and his blue eyes were narrowed in concern.

Catherine did not slow for him. "Sam, this is a really bad time."

He turned to walk with her. "Your mother called me. Said you're in trouble."

"I don't have time to explain," she said bluntly.

His fingers enclosed around her elbow, pulling her to a stop.

"She's in a state," he pressed. "Told me a killer came to your house, that he's hunting you down."

She caught sight of Sofia, Brass and a horde of police officers watching from down the corridor, their eyes tracking him as though a mixture of celebrity and wanted thug. She spared him a brief pat on the arm.

"It's fine," she said. "Everyone's safe. Look, I don't have time to discuss this -"

But a figure peeled away from the group and she saw with an inward cringe that it was Ecklie, striding forward with his hand outstretched like a mediating politician.

"Mr. Braun, I'm Conrad Ecklie, Undersheriff of the LVPD. Let me assure you the situation is under control -"

He interrupted bluntly. "What are you doing to protect my daughter?"

Ecklie paused, momentarily wrong-footed. She saw her father's eyes narrow, sizing up the political runt before him.

She cringed inwardly. "Sam -"

"Let me assure you she's perfectly safe," Ecklie went on smoothly. "We have over a hundred officers on the case, it's only a matter of time before we have the suspect in custody."

"I want her safe," Sam pressed.

"She is safe," Ecklie said. "The entire team's been grounded, we're making arrangements for a safe house until the suspect is apprehended."

"She can stay with me. I own a hotel. I have the best security in the city."

"It's not just me," Catherine added.

But the statement fell on deaf ears.

Ecklie held out an arm to lead him away. "Mr. Braun, perhaps we can discuss this somewhere more comfortable ..."

Catherine watched as Ecklie led him away to a side room, and took a breath to steady her nerves. When she moved to join the others, Sara was fighting a smile.

"What's Ecklie doing?" Warrick asked. "Singin' the company line?"

"When Sam's finished with him he'll be singing a few octaves higher," she replied dully.

"I like your father," Sara said.

Catherine opened her mouth to correct Sara's impression, but closed it again. It was the first time she had seen Sara smile in quite a while, and she didn't have the heart to wipe it from her. She was saved the trouble of commenting when her phone rang yet again. She sighed, finally answering it.

"Mom, I'm fine -"

Her mother's distressed voice immediately assailed her ears.

"_What _is going on? I've been trying to call you, you haven't answered ..."

"I know," Catherine admitted, retreating a few steps up the hallway and lowering her voice. "I've been caught up in things. It's a whirlwind here."

"The police told me what happened. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I'm under guard at the station."

"I couldn't contact you, I called your father ..."

"Sam's here," she admitted. Deciding she didn't have the patience to discuss him, she added, "How's Lindsay?"

"She's asleep. I didn't tell her the truth. Honey, you have to talk to us. You can't just -"

Catherine closed her eyes, resigned to her mother's criticisms. She waited it out for several minutes before apologising, and moving the conversation along to Lindsay's care over the following days. After promising to call her daughter in a few hours, she finally ended the call. She wandered back to her colleagues with the feeling of having survived a world war.

"Your Mom okay?" Nick asked.

"In fine form," Catherine answered.

She said no more as she caught Sara staring at her, regret etched into her face.

"I'm sorry, Cat," she said sincerely. "I never expected you to get caught up in this. Or your family."

Cathreine hesitated, unable to bring herself to say that it was okay. At the same time, she knew that while her own family had had a mere scare, Sara had endured six hours of having her sanity unravelled before being presented back to her in a tangled mess.

"We'll be fine," she reassured. "We'll catch the guy, and it'll all be over."

Sara nodded, her eyes found Sofia and Brass up the corridor.

"You said Sofia's leading the case?"

"It's all hers," Grissom confirmed.

Sara did not respond, but her eyes lingered on Sofia. After a long moment Sofia glanced over her shoulder, as though sensing someone watching her. When she caught Sara's expression, she excused herself from the group and headed toward them. Catherine recognised the case she was wheeling as from the back of her own wardrobe.

"Your Mom packed you some things," she explained, handing it over.

Catherine thanked her, but Sofia's focus was on Sara.

"Why don't we get a coffee?" she suggested kindly, indicating a secluded room up the corridor.

Sofia went to gently take her arm, as they all frequently did with witnesses and victims, but Sara kindly shook her off, seeing through the routine charade.

"It's okay," she said, nodding. "I'd really like to get this over with."

Her eyes went to the interview room nearby, and Sofia nodded.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Sara nodded bravely. "Uh-huh."

"All right."

Sofia led her into the small interview room, and Catherine moved with Grissom, Warrick and Nick to the window. Sofia clicked the door closed, and turned on the recorder. For the sake of the record she introduced themselves, listing the date, time and case number.

"Take us from the beginning," Sofia began kindly. "When you first saw him."

"I was at a bar," Sara answered. "It was called The Purple Panda. I was alone, but -"

Catherine listened as Sara unloaded the story, exactly as she and Grissom had first heard it. As she started talking she seemed afraid to pause, and spilled the story before she could lose her nerve. As a professional, she needed little prompting for detail from Sofia, who sat listening closely. She spoke about the bar, what she had drank, when he had moved to speak to her, and their decision to go back to her place. She related the further drinks they had consumed, but paused at last when the interaction had become physical.

"Did you engage in sexual intercourse?" Sofia asked.

Next to her Catherine sensed Nick shift, slightly uncomfortable with what he sensed they were going to hear. Yet he did not walk away.

"Yes," Sara said honestly, without shame. "It was normal. Consensual."

Sofia pressed for confirmation that she had been protected, and that he had not been rough, before moving on.

"What happened afterward?"

"I fell asleep," Sara admitted. "When I woke ..."

But for the first time she drifted off, unable to complete the sentence. She placed her fingertips to her temple, shielding herself from their view.

"I know this is hard," Sofia said kindly. "Take it slow."

But Sara did not resume speaking, and through her trembling fingertips Catherine saw she had closed her eyes, willing courage that she could not find. She knew perfectly well what the trouble was, that not only was the story highly traumatic for her, but that she knew they were all listening in through the glass.

"She can't do it," Warrick observed.

Sofia's eyes searched for them through the glass.

Catherine moved without thinking, leaving her case with Nick and moving past him for the door. She opened it and went inside, walking around to choose the seat beside Sara. As she sat down she put a hand on her friend's arm, offering a squeeze, and a plea for her to not flee.

Sara closed her eyes, drawing strength. Catherine slid her hand down to Sara's.

With a level voice, Sara began to speak.

* * *

_ I kinda liked the idea of Sam Braun coming forward and throwing his weight around. I also thought it was right for Sara to finally give her statement. It is one thing for her to refuse when it is only herself harmed, but I think that once he pursued the others, and put Catherine's family also in danger, it wasn't really an option for her to remain silent anymore. Hope you guys enjoyed._


	7. Chapter 7

In the immediate aftermath of the interview - when Sofia clicked off the tape - a brief silence fell. Catherine looked sideways to Sara, and Sara met her gaze, emotionally worn, but holding up. She had made it through the entire interview without crying, stubbornly maintaining her composure even as Catherine held her trembling fingers in her hand. Catherine gave her fingers a last squeeze as they moved to stand.

"You did the right thing," Sofia offered kindly.

Sara met her eyes without comment. She stood quietly as the door opened, and Grissom, Nick and Warrick edged into the doorway. Nick's worried eyes searched hers, but she spared him only a glance, squeezing his arm in wordless thanks on the way past. She stepped through the crowd in the doorway before walking calmly up the corridor. The eyes of everyone in the crowd trailed after her as she stopped at a distant vending machine, unearthing a few stray coins from her jeans' pocket. A can of diet coke dropped with a clunk, and she opened it, moving into a visible breakout room.

"You think she's okay?" Warrick asked quietly.

"She just needs a minute," Catherine replied.

She would have said more, but the presence of Ecklie and Brass in the doorway held her silent. Gradually they peeled their eyes away from Sara, until only Grissom was left watching, his eyes narrowed on her in contemplation.

"Maybe we should skip the preliminaries on this one," Brass said softly. "Round him up, jam his nose into the back of his skull and leave him to rot out with the coyotes. I can't believe he did that to her. She invites him home, thinking he's a nice guy, and he screws her round so hard she doesn't even know which way's up. Leaves us to pick up the pieces."

His comment was met with several pairs of sympathetic eyes. Catherine sighed.

"Let's just find a way forward," she said. "Focus on the job."

Ecklie stepped forward. "We know there's dogs all over the streets, patrols where he was last sighted. Between that and the APB, it shouldn't be long. In the meantime, though, the four of you need to gather your things. Mr. Braun's volunteered the top floor of his hotel to keep you safe until he's caught."

Catherine felt something within her snap to attention. Her mouth opened.

"There's no arguments, Catherine," Ecklie said, holding up a firm hand. "We need you somewhere safe and out of the way. The premises are centrally located, under 24 hour surveillance, and are easily guarded by our officers. It's done. Grissom, we'll have officers escort you, Warrick and Nick home to pick up some clothes. You'll meet them there. Catherine, you and Sara are going with Sofia."

He gave them a hard look to drum in his instructions before turning to leave. A short way up the corridor, Catherine spotted Sam Braun on the phone. She inwardly cringed, closing her eyes for a moment to stifle her frustration.

"Guess we'll see you there," Nick said.

Catherine nodded. Nick, Warrick and Sofia left the room, but as she made to follow Grissom stopped her, a gentle hand on her elbow. He waited until the others were out of earshot before speaking, and cast another glance at Sara, who was still a little way up the corridor.

"Keep an eye on her," he said quietly.

Catherine stared, wondering what he expected to happen. Before he could explain, however, he was staring in confusion at the now empty corridor. Sara was gone.

"Where'd she go?" she asked.

But Grissom had no answer. Worried, they walked together down the corridor, but a quick glance into the breakout rooms revealed no sign of her. Knowing she had not come in the direction of the interview room, Catherine continued up the corridor until she reached the junction. There was no sign of her in either corridor, but her eyes caught the door of the ladies' toilets.

"Wait here," she told Grissom.

She pushed open the door and entered the brightly lit restrooms. A long line of cubicles stretched along one wall, with old fashioned sinks and mirrors at the other. The cubicle doors were all open except for one near the far end. An abandoned diet coke can sat by the sink.

Catherine approached, her heels echoing off the tiles.

"Sara?"

There was no reply. She tapped a knuckle lightly on the door.

"You okay in there?"

"I'll be out in a minute," came a quiet voice. "I'll catch you up."

Catherine did not move. The cubicle was ominously silent; there were no sounds to indicate Sara was moving. She took a step back, glancing at the gap under the door. She could see Sara sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. Suspicions confirmed, she nodded to herself, but knew not to press her.

"Thanks to your statement, it looks like we're gonna nab this guy," she said, leaning back against the sink. "We've got charges of reckless endangerment, false imprisonment, assault, theft of a weapon, resisting arrest and attempted murder. We've been ordered to wait it out at the Rampart while they close the net. But after that, he won't be hurting anyone else for a long time."

She was not altogether surprised when Sara did not immediately answer. For a moment she listened to the echoes of footsteps in the corridor outside.

When Sara did speak, her voice was soft and hesitant.

"Catherine..?"

"Yeah?"

The shadows on the tiles shifted as Sara stood. The lock untwisted with a metallic click. Sara emerged, her brown eyes clouded with uncertainty.

"Are we doing the right thing?"

"Yes," she replied, without hesitation. "The way he treated you, the attempted murder of Sofia at the hospital ... we have a responsibility to keep ourselves and the public safe."

She was no fool, and saw clearly what Sara was thinking. The argument of his attempt to shoot Sofia was the one thing she could think of that could possibly ground Sara into helping them. It was the only part of the ordeal she could find hard to dismiss.

"You having doubts?" she asked.

"I ... don't know what to think," Sara admitted. She looked troubled. "What to do."

"We only have two choices," Catherine reasoned. "Stop him in his tracks, or drop the charges and wait for him to gun us all down on our way home." She paused. She felt slightly guilty at pushing her, and yet if disaster was to be avoided there was no other option. "Maybe he'd start with Grissom - head of the team."

She eyed Sara, trying to impress upon her the likely scenario. Sara closed her eyes. After a moment Catherine stepped forward, gently holding her forearm.

"Can you do it?" she asked. "Testify?"

It crossed her mind with an unpleasant lurch that Sara had been crowbarred into giving a statement, and that already she was wavering. She knew with a sinking feeling that they would face an uphill battle in getting her onto the stand in court. And despite his attempt to murder Sofia, the case would struggle without Sara's testimony. The bullet in the hospital had missed by too large a margin to get a successful conviction on attempted murder alone.

They were interrupted as the door opened. They turned to see Sofia gingerly step in, leading Grissom.

His concerned eyes honed in on Sara, who was still looking away at the floor.

"Sara?" he ventured.

She slowly looked up, her eyes still haunted with the scenario of his death.

She met Catherine's eyes.

"I won't let anyone get hurt," she answered.

Sara crossed to join Sofia and Grissom, but Catherine did not immediately follow. It had been far from the promise she had sought.

XXX

In the back seat of the squad car, Catherine watched the neon lights of the Las Vegas strip blur past. The trip from the station had been taken in silence. Beside her, Sara stared out the window with a morose expression, and since she had emerged from the restroom Grissom had not left her company. One glance into her troubled eyes and he had insisted that he had an adequate change of clothes in the back of his truck, and did not need to return home. He had sat down in the squad car with them before anyone could argue, and now Brass sat in the driver's seat, escorting them to the hotel.

Catherine shifted in her seat, the bullet proof vest tight around her torso. Brass had called it a wise precaution, but to Catherine it felt overdramatic. It was hard to imagine that their assailant would be waiting for them in a casino. He was more likely to be heading out of town.

The Rampart came into view, the drive through entry alive with the flashing lights of squad cars. In the middle of the chaos was Sam's limosine, and he stood amongst the crowd, dealing out instructions to his suited employees. Sofia was also visible, but it was the media which caught Catherine's eye. Outside the front doors a flock of cameras were filming their reporters, talking fast into microphones. A crowd had gathered along the sidelines.

Brass glanced over his shoulder at them as he pulled in.

"You ready?"

"My life as a celebrity," Catherine said dully, eyeing the cameras.

"Yeah, well, just don't stop to sign any autographs," Brass replied.

He switched off the ignition as Sofia and several male officers came hurrying toward them. Catherine got out the car, slammed the door with a thud, and paused to eye the commotion. The words of the closest female reporter caught her ears.

"... Yes, Maree, the drama following last night's wild shootout across the emergency room of the Desert Palm Hospital has this morning escalated into a statewide manhunt. We're being told hundreds of officers of the LVPD are involved in the hunt for the alleged would-be murderer, 31-year-old Sebastian Reed. It is now believed that Reed went to the hospital in an attempt to kill a specific member of the LVPD's Crime Scene Investigation team, who had been taken for treatment following an unknown incident at her apartment late last night. What's happening now is that we're seeing a large contingent of law enforcement gathering here at the Rampart, the casino and hotel owned by notorious figure Sam Braun. I must stress that the information here is unclear at this stage, we're still waiting on an official statement from the police, but we are getting unconfirmed reports that the alleged assailant Sebastian Reed is believed to be targeting members of the CSI team, who are being placed into lockdown on the hotel's penthouse suite for their own safety. Casino mogul Sam Braun has volunteered to help the police, due to his daughter being a member of the CSI team and fearing for her safety from a suspect who is known to be armed and is considered extremely dangerous. Mr Braun, what can you tell us about events unfolding here this morning?"

Catherine eyed her father as she stepped in front of the camera, as cool and calm as if it were any normal day.

"I'm not at liberty to provide details on the events which have occurred. However I can say that I am gravely concerned at what has taken place and the threat these people are under, and I am more than willing to offer accommodation and security to these people, and do what I can to assist in upholding justice in our city ..."

Catherine narrowed her eyes as Grissom's voice floated somewhere nearby.

"Catherine?"

She looked to him, seeing him standing with Brass and Sara, ready to go in. Sara was looking over the scene with the same distant and thoughtful expression she had worn for several hours.

Catherine collared the nearest suited Rampart employee, passing him her bag.

"Take them upstairs," she ordered.

She did not look back as she began walking, heading toward Sam.

She heard Grissom call somewhere behind her. "Catherine!"

"God save us," Brass added. "Will someone _grab _her, this thug could be anywhere. Media has your location lit up like a lighthouse -"

She made it halfway toward Sam when a strong hand seized her arm, pulling her to a stop. It was Sofia. She looked stressed, urgently scanning the streetscape.

"_Catherine _-"

She looked around, about to shake her off, but caught something in Sofia's eyes. She followed her glance back to the doors, and saw Sara, turned away, with Grissom's arm around her shoulders. He seemed to be talking quietly to her. She looked unsteady, as if ready to be sick.

Thoughts of cornering her father vanished, and Catherine strode automatically back toward them. Sofia kept a tight grip on her arm, not releasing her.

"You do that again, and next time we'll keep you safe in a cell," Brass greeted.

Catherine bit back a retaliation, knowing it was not the time.

"Let's go," Grissom insisted.

XXX

It was a half hour later that things had calmed again. The media were forgotten somewhere below on the street - out of sight and mind - and they were secure in the elite penthouse suite of the hotel. It had been not long after their arrival that Nick and Warrick had joined them, and were even now still stunned by the luxury of the apartment. They were gathered near the windows by the pool table, staring out at the unimpeded view of the Las Vegas day getting underway outside. The sun was blinding, the heat seeping through the windows. Far below the streets were buzzing with cars and traffic. The scene was so normal Catherine found it hard to believe the situation they were in. Yet somewhere out there, whether in the city or the desert wilderness, Reed was roaming, armed with Sara's weapon and bent on killing them.

She sighed.

"You okay?" Warrick asked, pausing nearby.

"Yeah, I -"

But the words didn't come. She broke off with a slight shrug.

"It's like being in prison," she confessed.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Nick said, trying to adopt a cheerful tone. "You know your father obviously loves you. It's not for us that he's doing all this."

He glanced pointedly around the luxury apartment. It had not only several luxury bedrooms with their own ensuites, but also a heated spa, bowling alley, grand piano and half basketball court. Nick and Warrick had first walked in as though all their Christmases had come at once. Across the living room Grissom was examining the contents of two boxes left to them by Brass - the archived case files of the suicide death of Reed's former partner - and Sara had wandered toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

Catherine felt Warrick's hands land on the back of her shoulders, massaging gently.

"You know it's going to be fine, right?" he asked. "It's just a game of patience. Gotta wait it out."

"Could always be worse," Nick chimed. "I can think of a lot of worse places to be than here."

"Yeah, I know."

She enjoyed the massage for another few blissful seconds before pulling herself together. She turned around to see Nick chalking up a cue.

He smiled. "Long as we're here, though, might as well make the most of it, right?"

He looked up to Sara, who had wandered back in with the water.

"You wanna play?"

She gave a polite, tired smile. "Thanks, but I think I'm gonna get some sleep. I've only slept about an hour in the last thirty-six."

His smile evaporated into concern. "Sure."

"You okay?" Catherine asked.

She nodded. "Just tired. It's been a long night."

Catherine studied her eyes, but they were sincere. Sara gave another tired smile, and turned to head for her room.

Nick and Warrick watched her go, concerned.

"We'll keep an eye on her," Catherine said quietly.

Nick nodded. "Guess sleep could be the best medicine. Recharge the batteries."

For a moment there was silence. Then, knowing there was nothing they could do, Nick held out the cue.

"You guys go ahead," Catherine said. "I'll play the winner."

She turned, heading for the door.

"Where're you going?" Warrick asked.

"There's something I have to handle."

XXX

It was two minutes later that she entered her father's private office, sweeping through past the security guards, her young escorting LVPD officer hurrying to catch up. She stopped in the doorway to his inner sanctuary, spotting him on the phone behind his mahogany desk, looking out the window as he spoke.

He broke off as he spotted her. "I'll call you back -"

He put his phone on the desk. "I was wondering when you'd find me."

Catherine looked over her shoulder to the young rookie. "I'll just be a minute."

He nodded, waiting outside. She closed the door. Turning, she saw Sam standing confidently before her. He calmly waved to a leather lounge suite.

"I take it you came to thank me," he started.

His voice carried the undercurrent that he knew she had done the opposite, but she was not put off. She sat down in the chair opposite, and despite her feelings, resolved to make the effort to start off on the right foot.

"I'm grateful," she began.

"I saw your gratitude at the station," he cut in. "Your expression when your boss suggested you stay here."

"That was surprise," she argued.

He laughed. "The same kind of pleasant surprise as when you first got the call about your friend."

His words stung. She gave them a second to dissipate, and then sighed, already tired of arguing.

"Why are you doing this, Sam? I saw the cameras outside, but if you'd wanted a PR exercise, you could have donated to charity."

He looked firm into her eyes. "I don't care about the media. I care about my family."

She scoffed before she could stop herself.

"You don't believe me?" he asked, calmly stretching his arms out on the sofa.

"You really expect me to believe that you're throwing away the income from that penthouse suite out of goodwill?"

"I gave you my reason. I got a call from your mother. She was in a panic, said an armed gunman was hunting you down. That you were refusing to answer your phone. I arrived at the station and listened to your friend's statement, that he'd already raped her and tried to kill her. You can't call me flawed for not wanting that to happen to you."

"He didn't rape her," she said automatically.

"Maybe you weren't counting the number of drinks he bought her. The state she must have been in ..."

Catherine shook her head, not wanting to hear it. That it had been consensual was the one thing of the whole ordeal that she was absolutely sure of.

"It was consensual," she said flatly.

"Fine," he said calmly. "I don't consider it my business. I'm just taking care of my family." He paused. "Is that really so hard to believe?"

His blue eyes were cool, but it was hard to gauge his sincerity. Not knowing what to think, she made to stand.

"A little tip," he said, stopping her in her tracks. "If you want to help your friend, ask her what she's hiding."

She stared, not comprehending.

"I've lived in this town a long time," he said. "I know a lie when I see one."

XXX

When Catherine returned to the hotel room, it was to find that Sara had indeed fallen asleep. She tiptoed into the room to find the daylight glowing faintly through the drawn curtains, and Sara tucked up under the covers. She crept out again just as silently, with no choice but to file away Sam's comment for a later hour. The remainder of the day slipped away in relative inactivity. They watched the news, but as the day wore on, there was increasingly little to report. They checked intermittently on Sara, but she proved to be genuinely exhausted. It was not until sunset that she emerged, wearing a tank top, jeans and socks, and rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Hey," Warrick greeted warmly. "Sleeping beauty awakes."

They had been relaxing on the lounge suite for nearly half an hour, the news playing in the background, and twisted their heads to see behind them as Sara neared. Catherine swiftly hit the 'off' button on the remote control, not wanting Sara to see the news footage. The room was pleasantly quiet, the golden sunset streaming through the windows.

Sara's face lit up with a teasing smile. "To the best of my memory, sleeping beauty only woke because she was kissed."

"Well, hey, we can arrange that," Nick said. "But I get to be the prince, right?"

Offering her a seat beside him, he gave her a friendly peck on the cheek. Warrick patted her briefly on the back.

"You look a lot better," Catherine observed.

"I feel ..." She drifted off, considering.

"A lot better than you did this morning," Grissom finished.

She nodded. "Yeah." Her eyes flitted to the blank television. "What's news?"

Catherine shared an uneasy glance with the others, debating what to tell her. It was Warrick who answered.

"Well," he said, "they're doing everything they can. Pulling double and triple shifts out there. Chasing every lead."

"There's no news," Sara clarified.

But she did not look bothered, nodding as though she had anticipated the answer. But it was in her content expression that Catherine was reminded of what Sam Braun had said. Sara seemed far too unsurprised that they had made no progress. She wondered if he had been right, that Sara knew more than she had told them.

Out of the corner of her eye she sensed Grissom watching her, raising an eyebrow, but as she opened her mouth to speak the door clicked open. Brass and Sofia sailed in, looking windswept and exhausted.

Catherine stood to meet them.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Brass offered a dead shrug. "We've had better days. He's probably been tipped off by the media. Either already fled or laying low."

He caught sight of Sara, and moved around Catherine, hoisting a positive expression as he went to greet her. Catherine turned to Sofia, who had stopped mid-step at a small table. Her hair was falling out of its ponytail, and she looked ready to collapse.

Catherine felt a pang of sympathy.

"You look beat," she said.

Sofia eyed the company, and lowered her voice so only Catherine could hear.

"I wish we had better news," she replied. "But wherever he is, he's long gone. We've combed every street in Vegas. The highways, his home neighborhood, your homes ... there's been no news or sightings in hours now."

It had not been the news Catherine had been hoping to hear, and she gave it a second to sink in. No one had mentioned what would happen if he could not be caught. No one knew. But Catherine knew that at some stage, they would have to return to their normal lives. They could not remain under guard forever. Yet there was nothing stopping him from emerging at whatever time that was, and finishing the job when the circus had finally drawn its curtain.

"How is she?" Sofia asked, eyeing Sara.

"She slept all day," Catherine answered. "Only just woke."

Sofia nodded, just as Brass raised his voice to address the room.

"Anyway, we came to see if you guys want some dinner. Sam Braun's got us a table at the restaurant downstairs. It's on the house."

"Hey, I'm game," Warrick replied.

Everyone agreed, Sara rising with a smile and going to collect her shoes, and a minute later they headed downstairs.

XXX

When they arrived, the restaurant was only half-full, the air full with a quiet hum of conversation, the musical tinkling of silverware against plates. A grand piano sat unmanned in the centre of the room, but their own table was against the far wall. As they gathered Catherine tried to ignore Sam Braun's suited guards at the entrance. Despite the oppressive feeling of being under constant guard, it felt good to finally get out of the hotel room. They chose their seats as Sofia tugged at the clasp on her heavy police belt.

"I gotta take this thing off," she said absently. "It's got enough weight to sink the titanic."

She dropped it on the table, her gun, keys, radio and handcuffs landing with a metallic clatter. She gave an exhausted sigh as she sat down. Sara sat beside her. It was a moment later that the waiter arrived with their menus, and Sara cast her eyes down the list with interest.

"You hungry?" Brass asked kindly.

"I'm starving," Sara replied, still reading.

Catherine was not surprised. She could not recall Sara eating anything since their midnight chat in Grissom's office. She cast her eyes down her own menu, examining the wine list. If they were going to survive this ordeal, she was in urgent need of a drink.

"I always thought that's the problem with graveyard," Warrick said, opening his own. "You sleep all day, wake in the evening to start your day with dinner. It's all backwards."

Sara smiled at him. "Lucky for me, I was never any good at breakfast."

She pushed her menu aside toward Sofia's discarded gear. "I'll be back in a minute. Can you order for me?"

Nick looked up. "What would you like?"

"Surprise me." She pointed to the nearby passage and the ladies' sign. "I'll just be ..."

They nodded. When she had departed Brass turned to them, his expression now serious.

"So how is she really?" he asked quietly. "She really okay?"

"She seems fine now," Nick replied.

"Slept all day," Warrick added. "Worked miracles."

"But what about this morning." He looked to Catherine. "She didn't say a word to anyone, you followed her into the bathroom. Was she being sick in there?"

"She's fine," Catherine replied briefly, feeling suddenly protective. "She just needed a minute. Too many prying eyes."

"It's not easy to give such a personal statement in front of your work colleagues," Grissom added.

"I'm not saying it is," Brass replied. "But look, just between us, Ecklie's been making some calls. He's found a psychiatrist who specialises in this type of thing. Says he's willing to talk with her."

Nick held up a hand, swiftly interrupting. "You know, I'm willing to bet, that sitting down with a shrink is the last thing she feels like doing right now. She's feeling better. Let's just give her a breather, okay?"

"I agree," Catherine added.

"I'm just the messenger," Brass said. "The help's there if it's needed."

He narrowed his eyes suddenly at Grissom, who had adopted a vacant, contemplative look.

"Gil?" he prompted.

Grissom shrugged one shoulder. "She gave her statement. I think as long as we're perceived to be in danger, she'll see it through. I don't think Sara's health is the question right now."

"What is the question?" Sofia asked.

Catherine followed his gaze until it locked firmly onto herself.

"Sooner or later," he said, "I'm going to ask you what you're hiding."

"Hiding?" Warrick repeated.

She felt all eyes suddenly upon her, and sighed, shrugging them off.

"According to Sam," she replied, "I'm not the one we need to be asking."

They opened their mouths to question her, but were interrupted as a waiter arrived.

"Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to order?"

"Yes please," Warrick replied, picking up his menu. "I'll have a uh ..."

They ordered drinks and food, one by one. By the time they worked their way around the table, another minute had passed. Nick finally ordered for Sara, but as the waiter departed his eyes fell to her empty seat.

"You know," he said, eyes narrowing in concern, "she's been a while ..."

Catherine's eyes flew to the clock on the wall. It had been over five full minutes.

Sofia was already on her feet. "I'll go -"

Catherine joined her. They made their way down the short side passage until they reached the door to the ladies' toilets, and pushed it open. At the sinks a girl with long blonde hair was preening in the mirror. As they walked through the inner door, they saw three of the cubicle doors were closed.

"Sara?" Catherine called.

There was no reply.

"Sara, are you in here?"

There was still no reply. Something shifted, the sense that something was very wrong rising within her. Sofia exchanged an anxious look and called out to the room.

"Ladies, this is the LVPD. Can you please identify yourselves?"

Two of the doors immediately clicked open - one revealing a scared elderly Chinese woman, and the other a teenage girl.

Catherine crossed to the last door and knocked.

"Ma'am?"

"My name's Nicole!" the girl called.

Catherine turned around, hurrying back through the door to the sinks. She held up her badge to the blonde girl.

"LVPD," she said quickly. "Did you see a woman with brown hair come through here? Blue jeans, brown jacket -"

The girl was shaking her head, alarmed. "No, I only saw them -"

She pointed at the door to the cubicles. Alarmed, Catherine momentarily hesitated, then hurried back into the side passage. She glanced each way, but there was no sign of anyone.

Sofia stopped beside her. "Where'd she go?"

"I have no idea," Catherine replied.

Wondering if their paths had somehow crossed, she hurried back toward the restaurant floor. Sara's seat was still empty. Catching her gaze, her colleagues' eyes immediately widened in alarm.

"I can't find her," Catherine explained, cutting them off mid-query.

"She's not in there?" Brass asked quickly, rising.

"No, she -"

But Catherine broke off, her eyes suddenly falling to Sara's empty place at the table. The large menus now returned to the waiter, she could see what had been hidden before. Her eyes raked over Sofia's discarded police belt.

"Where's your weapon?" she asked.

Sofia's eyes narrowed, passing over the table. Her hands automatically reached for her absent belt. Catherine saw that it had not been reclipped to her jeans.

"I ..."

"You put it down ..." Grissom said, catching on.

Sofia crouched for a moment, checking under the table, but there was nothing there.

Warrick dived for her remaining possessions, spreading them out with a clatter.

"Your keys are missing."

Catherine heaved a breath, everything suddenly falling horribly into place. In an instant she was running, leaving her colleagues behind her. She rushed back down the passage, but passed the toilets to the fire door at the far end. She threw it open - crashing against the brick wall with a deafening clang - and threw herself down the flight of concrete stairs. At the ground she crashed open the next fire door, exiting into the fresh night air at the rear of the casino. She made straight for a young male suited parking attendant nearby.

"LVPD," she called. "Did you see a woman come through here?"

He shrugged, calm. "Yeah. One of your people -"

"Where is she?" she demanded.

He pointed vaguely over his shoulder. "She took the car. Left."

"You let her _go_?"

He looked confused. "We were told to obey to you people ..."

She stifled the urge to thump him just as the door behind her crashed open again. Sofia and Nick were first out, rushing to flank her. Their eyes scanned the parking lot, then searched her for an explanation.

"Where is she?" Nick asked.

"Gone," Catherine replied.

She swept back her hair, and cringed.

* * *

_This chapter was so long in coming that I'm almost scared to think about how annoyed people must be with me. I think I lost my way a little with this one, but am now back on track. I hope people are still interested in reading this, and that you are still enjoying it. Fingers crossed._


	8. Chapter 8

"Well, that's just great," Brass said, heaving a sigh. "What the hell does she think she's doing?"

"She's stolen a gun and a car," Grissom said. "What does that add up to to you?"

"When I catch her?" Brass said bluntly. "A resignation."

Pulling herself out of her shock, Catherine dug her cell phone from her pocket, scrolling in a blur down her contacts list. She stopped at Greg, dialling.

"You're talking a vigilante," Nick said slowly, eyeing Grissom. "You don't think she's gonna do something stupid?"

"I think she just did," Warrick said lowly.

"Assuming she knows more than she's told us," Sofia said, "that she may even know his location, has she gone to catch him or to help him?"

"We can't know," Grissom said. "But whichever it is we need to head her off. Catherine -"

"I'm working on it," Catherine replied. She was pacing, listening to Greg's cell phone ring. She closed her eyes, praying he would answer.

At last he did. "Hey Catherine," he said chirpily. "How's life in the lap of luxury?"

"Not so great," she replied. "Greg, I need you to drop whatever you're doing and get us an immediate GPS tracking on Sofia Curtis' car."

"Why?" he asked, tone changing. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Sara's in it."

"Sara? But -"

"I don't have time for questions," she said quickly. "Just get us the location."

"Okay, hold on ..."

She listened as he moved through the office. There were distant sounds of phones ringing, and then the tapping of a keyboard. She waited, pacing.

"It's not registering," Greg reported. "It's like it's been disconnected."

Catherine cringed.

"What about her cell phone?" she asked.

There was more tapping of keys.

"It's dead," he said. "She must have it switched off -"

"Great," she replied. "Thanks."

She hit the end button before he could respond, turning back to the others.

"No luck?" Brass asked.

"She's switched it off," she said, sighing. "There's no signal."

"Covering her tracks," Warrick said.

"Which begs the question," Sofia started, looking thoughtful, "How do you catch a CSI?"

The statement lingered in the air. No one had an answer. Catherine's mind went to the traffic cameras, but it would take several hours to get the footage, and by that time it would likely be too late. It would also only give them the general direction, and once out of the strip, she could be anywhere in the entire state.

Nick looked defeated. "If she doesn't want to be caught, there's no way we're gonna find her."

"She's too experienced," Warrick agreed. "Man, this whole thing was an act, from the moment she woke up. We thought she was feeling better, but that was an Oscar performance. She was never fine. She just wanted us to believe she was so we'd drop our guard. Then when the opportunity presented itself ..."

"We should never have let her out of our sight," Sofia said. Her face was tense, both pissed off at having her things stolen and intensely worried.

"Well it's done now," Brass said regretfully. He looked to Grissom. "Gil ... I'm gonna have to post an APB."

He spoke hesitantly, gauging his reaction. After a long moment, Grissom nodded, though Catherine could tell he did not like it.

"I don't want her treated like a criminal," he insisted. "It's only to be used to locate her. When we find her, I want to be the first to speak with her."

"Okay," Brass said, nodding. "I'll get the word out to our units, Highway Patrol. I'll just get them to hold her until we get there."

He retreated a short way to make the call in private.

"You're not really expecting them to find her?" Nick asked, doubtful. "If she planned this enough to turn off the GPS, she's planned it enough to expect an APB."

"She won't be taking any major roads," Warrick agreed. "She's too smart."

Catherine stepped forward, laying a placating hand on his arm.

"We've gotta do everything we can," she said.

Her mind twisted up with the hypothetical scenarios of Sara's intentions. There was no defending the stealing of Sofia's gun, and only so many things she could possibly want it for. But whether to defend herself against him, or whether to kill him, it was clear that either way she was intending to confront him. And he had already tried to kill her twice.

The same thing was apparently on Nick's mind.

"Look," he said, pointing to Grissom and Catherine, "you two are the ones who've spoken to her about this. Do you really think she intends to kill him?"

Grissom gave a weary shrug. "I hope not."

"She vowed to protect us," Catherine said, remembering their talk in the station restroom. Her heart sank with new understanding.

"Protect us by putting this on our shoulders?" Sofia asked, concerned. "If she shoots him, she'll go to jail. Life sentence, no parole. If she plans to help him, slip him over the border, she'll go to jail. And if she intends to confront him ... he's already overpowered her once -"

"She's dead," Nick finished.

The words sank heavy into the silence. Abruptly, Catherine turned on her heels, marching back toward the fire door.

"Where are you going?" Grissom called.

But she did not answer, slamming the door behind her.

XXX

"I _swear_, I don't know the guy. I only know what your supervisor told me."

Catherine held her father's eyes, searching them for any shred of honesty. Sara's flight had not surprised him, and as she thought over the day's events it seemed even more incredible that he had known something was wrong. Yet he maintained his denial of ever knowing Reed, or anything else of interest. It had been half an hour since they had first come upstairs to review the surveillance footage. The image of Sara fleeing in Sofia's car was frozen on the screen. The fact that she had turned left, heading west out of the city, was the only useful fact they had established. Less than two minutes later Brass, Sofia, Warrick and Nick had all left, too anxious to sit still. With their options exhausted, they were doing things the hard way - questioning witnesses along the streets, patrolling the roads. With every passing minute Catherine felt even more tense, knowing it was hopeless. She had even swallowed her pride and left a pleading message on Sara's cell phone, though she knew the odds of her checking it were remote.

She saw Grissom narrow his eyes a few feet away. Despite the situation he had remained remarkably calm.

"You knew she was hiding something," he said. _"How?"_

"I run a casino," he said calmly. "I'm observant. When you walked her into my hotel the first thing she did was stake out the exits." His eyes bored into Catherine. "You were so intent on grilling me you didn't notice."

"If you'd _noticed _that, you should've warned us," Catherine said firmly, levelling her father's gaze.

"I did."

Catherine's mind briefly flitted back to their first meeting in his office. It had hardly qualified as an adequate warning.

He stepped forward, taking her shoulder.

"Look, Muggs, I've done what I can. I've told you the truth."

His blue eyes earnestly searched hers, but she had no time to contemplate his honesty as there was a knock at the door. They turned to see one of his employees waiting.

"I'll just be a minute," Sam said.

He left, closing the door behind him. Catherine turned to face Grissom, who was standing next to the leather lounge suite.

"He's lying," she said flatly. She heard her own voice shaking with emotion. "Fifty bucks says he had his henchmen combing the streets the minute my Mom called."

Grissom raised an eyebrow slightly. "Perhaps it's a pity they didn't succeed."

She met his eyes, but in them had no reassurance. She knew Grissom hated her father, but it was hard to not share his wish that someone, at least, had gotten to Reed before Sara. If that had happened, disaster might have been avoided. She slipped a hand over her eyes, her blood boiling with frustration.

She sighed. "We should have had her psychiatrically examined at the hospital."

"Well, as Sofia tells it, you were somewhat distracted."

"We _knew _her condition when we spoke to her in your office. We weren't qualified to help -"

He gently took her arm.

"Hindsight's 20/20," he said calmly. "And best left behind us."

She searched his eyes, but they were not reassuring. Somewhere outside Sara was long gone, gone to kill or be killed, and they were helpless to stop it.

She sat down, sinking into the leather couch, and held her forehead.

"_Damn_."

Grissom did not reply.

XXX

In the desert, Sara rolled the car to a silent stop a mile from the old wooden shack. She did not need to kill the headlights; she had been careful to switch them off as soon as she left the main highway, twenty miles back. She did not want to alert him to her arrival. And yet in any case, it was dusk now, the desert a peaceful expanse of shadowy scrub under an indigo sky, but there was just enough light left to drive. She eyed the shack down on the plain below. It sat forgotten like some kind of an old, abandoned outpost, a one-room hut with gaps between the planks. She narrowed her eyes, seeing a flicker of light between the tiny gaps. A candle, maybe. Or perhaps a torch. Either way, he was there.

She tensed, her heart hammering against her rib cage, adrenaline pulsating with the finality of what she was about to do. Up until now she had known she could turn around. There would be a stinging slap on the wrist but no dire consequences. She had heard the APB posted, could imagine her colleagues frantically searching for her, their anger and helplessness. But now the desert was eerily silent, and there was no one to stop her.

Trembling, she let her eyes fall to the passenger seat. Sofia's gun sat untouched next to her cell phone. She reached for the phone, eyeing the dead screen. She pressed the 'ON' button. It chimed, the backlight glowing bright in the car, a string of voicemail messages listing themselves down the screen.

Her heart thudded as she saw messages from her team. She stared at their names, hesitating. To listen might make it too hard to ever get out of the car, and to do what she had to do. Yet her heart pulled, her guilt at what she had done to them, and without knowing why, she pressed to listen.

Nick's voice came first, rippling with fear. "... Look, Sara, whatever you're feeling, we can work it out, okay? Just pull over, call me, and I'll come get you. We'll sort it all out. Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

Her eyes seized the shack ahead, Sofia's gun that lay cold and waiting.

"Maybe I am crazy ..." she considered, but the silent night did not answer.

Catherine's message was next, her voice low and urgent. "Look, Sara, just come back. It's not too late. No one's angry. We'll get help, come with you -"

She hit the end button, unable to listen any further. Slipping away from Catherine at the hotel had been no easy task. She had been so protective that she had even checked on her every hour while she had been feigning sleep in the bedroom. And yet when it had been done, when she had pulled out onto the strip with no one stopping her, the guilt had twisted her stomach into a knot. Catherine had done everything to help her, and she had thrown it now into her face. She could not bear to think of Sofia's reaction.

No, she thought. Catherine was wrong. It was too late to turn back.

Her eyes fell to the next message on the phone. Her heart twisted again. _Grissom_.

She pressed to listen.

"Sara ..."

His voice wavered, and there was a long silence. She listened to his breathing, puffing into the microphone.

"_Please_," he finished.

She kept listening, but the message ended.

She closed her eyes, his one word somehow managing to rattle her more than her other colleagues' emotional pleas. Her sharp eyes landed on the shack ahead, on the gun beside her. She could not pull out. But as she gazed ahead at Reed, at him waiting for her, she could not leave them, either.

She sighed, and hit dial on Grissom's name.

It rang only once before he answered, frantic and astonished.

"_Sara_?"

She heard Catherine in the background, "Is that her?"

She closed her eyes, holding tight to her resolve, that nothing they could say would shake her.

"Sara, are you all -"

She cut in. "Don't come crashing in. No lights or sirens. Don't drive past the car."

"Sara, where are you?"

She again heard Catherine in the background. "Is she okay?"

Sara's eyes again found the shack, and determination surged through her. It had to end, and this was the only way.

"Tell them I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Sara! -"

But she dropped the phone onto the passenger seat. She knew they were probably already tracing the inbuilt GPS, and she would leave it on for them. No matter what happened, they would find the scene, and get their answers.

She seized the cold gun, clutching it tight in her hand. Then she stepped out of the car, feet in the desert dust, and stalked toward the hut.

* * *

_Hmmm ... maybe I'll leave it here for a while? ;)_


	9. Chapter 9

In the front passenger seat of the SUV, Catherine sat tense, willing herself to keep control of her nerves. It had been a half hour since they had run for the car, since they had frantically phoned Brass and Greg. Sara's message had been hard to believe, even harder to understand than her deliberate deception in fleeing the hotel. Her behaviour since the original incident had only become more erratic. Her deception in escaping the hotel had stung, the feeling of being betrayed after working so hard to protect Sara like a slap across the face. She knew the patience now of Brass and Sofia was thin; that even Grissom and Nick could no longer defend her actions. In the back seat Nick sat rigid with escalating fear; both Warrick and Grissom were silent. None of them had dared to speak.

Catherine fought to stay resolutely focused, and kept her eyes on the road ahead. Out the windscreen the night desert was eerily still, the dusty track stretching ahead to the horizon. She kept her eyes sharply peeled, her phone pressed hard to her ear. Greg's commentary of their position felt like a lifeline in tumultuous seas.

"You're two miles away," he told her. "You see it yet?"

Catherine eyed the road ahead. The desert was bare except for a slight incline in the distance. There were no buildings, no sign of a parked car.

"This place is bare naked," she reported. "Are you sure?"

"Slow down," he replied. "You're coming up to her."

She cast a look to Grissom, but he had already overheard. He eased off the accelerator, slowing the car to a gentle roll. He flicked off the headlights, gliding in by stealth. The car behind them slowed. Grissom took the radio handset.

"Jim, turn your lights off."

Brass' voice was just audible over the crackling line.

"You know she didn't give us reason ..."

"We have to trust her," Grissom said firmly. "If he's here and we alert him to our presence, we may endanger her life."

A moment passed, but the lights died. Warrick narrowed his eyes at Grissom, still turning over his words.

"You're talking trust?" Warrick asked, an edge to his voice. "She blew that when she ditched us."

Nick shook his head, fear holding him. "She's in trouble, man ..."

"Let's just stay focused," Catherine said, her own voice tense. "Find her."

"I hope we do," Warrick said, worried. "But after that I want some answers. And we're getting her some professional help."

No one replied. Catherine quashed her own private feelings of agreement, and kept scanning the landscape. Desert silence swept into the car. Grissom steered the car silently up the incline, until suddenly they saw exactly what they were looking for: a black SUV hidden off the track, concealed by the crest of the hill.

"You're on top of it," Greg reported in her ear. "Do you see it?"

She locked her eyes onto it, adrenaline upping a notch.

"We've got it. Thanks, Greg."

She ended the call as Grissom pulled the car to a stop. She was out in a flash, drawing her weapon and jogging over to the car. But it was dark and silent, and Sara was not there. Throwing open the door she cast her eyes around the empty seats, landing finally on the abandoned cell phone. On the dashboard the tiny red light on the GPS was still flashing. Sofia's gun was gone.

"She here?" Brass asked, hurrying up behind.

"Long gone," Catherine replied. "Just a cell phone."

She tried to hold herself together, Sara's absence like a vacuum in her lungs, prickling with fear and anger. She saw the feeling mirrored in her companions' faces. They turned on the spot, scanning the dark desert landscape.

Nick shook his head, hands on hips. "There's no prints. She could be anywhere."

He followed Grissom, wandering up the hill to the crest thirty feet away.

"Your weapon's gone," Brass observed to Sofia. "Wherever she went, it wasn't to stargaze." He sighed. "I'll call it in."

He wandered back to his car radio. Catherine listened as he reported the safe recovery of Sofia's car, the news that Sara was not to be seen. She heard again, as they had throughout the drive, that backup was already on the way, though was up to a half hour behind.

"Catherine?"

She looked up at Grissom's voice, talking down from the hilltop.

"There's something you should see."

As a group they made to join him, and a moment later Catherine did see: a ramshackled wooden hut on the plain just below, lonely under the stars. Even at a distance, she could see thin strips of dull, flickering light between the planks. There was no window on their side of the hut, and no other sign of activity. She squinted in the darkness, trying to see more detail.

"Man," Warrick said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "What the hell is that? A hideout?"

"Some kind of outpost," Nick speculated. "An old hunting shack, maybe."

"Whatever it is, it's not a permanent residence," Catherine added. "That light's flickering too much to be electricity. And I don't hear a generator. If he's in there, he hasn't been for long."

"You know what I notice?" Brass said. "The fact that she hid the car. She didn't have to scout around for this place, she knew precisely where it was. She must've known where he was all along. Could've saved us a lot of trouble and riddles by just telling us in the first place."

"She's ill," Catherine said, sighing. "Stockhom Syndrome, it's ..."

But she drifted off, unable to complete the sentence.

"It's something the Sheriff's not going to swallow," Brass finished. "We all know she's hurting, but she's going to need more than that."

There was a brief silence at his words.

Nick drew his weapon, checking it. "We're going down there, right?"

"_Wrong_," Grissom said quickly.

Catherine looked up, catching more in his expression than an Ecklie-like love for protocol. His eyes were narrowed, grazing over the distant hut.

"Grissom?" she prompted.

"It's too quiet," he explained.

Nick looked confused. "Well ... we can assume she's in there. She parked so deliberately, knew where to find him, there's nothing else for miles. There's a light on in there."

"We can also assume she arrived at least a half hour before us," Grissom said. "She had a large head start, and she was armed. We already know he's armed. It's evident from the location in which she left the car that she didn't advertise her arrival. And however he greeted her, I doubt it was with warmth. If there was an argument, a power struggle, we've already missed it."

"She's armed," Warrick said. "She can defend herself. She's trained. If she did walk in, it wasn't blind like last time."

Catherine shook her head, wishing she could believe it. "He's violent. Physically stronger ..."

"We have to assume the possibility of a hostage situation," Grissom said. "We have to be careful."

There was a brief silence before Sofia nodded.

"I'll call in SWAT," she volunteered.

She left, heading back to the car.

"SWAT?" Nick questioned. "They'll be sleeping back in Vegas. By the time you get them out of bed and out here it'll be another half hour."

"So be it," Brass replied firmly. "It's too dangerous. This is their territory. We have protocol for situations like these."

"Protocol?" Nick challenged. "Are you really telling me we're going to sit here with our feet up while she's in trouble down there?"

"Yeah. That's what I'm saying. You're a CSI. You're a criminalist, not a cop."

"We're all trained," Warrick insisted, looking equally uncomfortable. "We're all armed -"

"So's he," Grissom said.

"And in case you didn't notice," Brass added, "he's not afraid to use it. He nearly killed Sofia, could've shot her in the head. You wanna finish the night in the morgue?"

"I'm not saying we take any stupid risks," Nick said. "We have the vests. All I'm saying is, a half hour's a long wait if you're in trouble. We know she's not thinking straight, we know this guy's unbalanced. I just don't want to find out later that she was raped or murdered because we sat here cooling our heels. I mean, could you defend that in an enquiry? That we stood by fifty feet away and let it happen?"

"I agree," Warrick added. "He could be hurting her right now down there. Could be doing anything. You really wanna face her later on and tell her we didn't help because we were afraid of some fine print in a rule book? Part of this job is initiative. There's no place for SWAT until we've at least assessed the situation."

"So what are you going to do?" Brass asked. "Waltz up to the door and knock?"

"She _wanted _us to find her," Catherine said. "That's why she called and tipped us off."

"Oh, so you're siding with her now?" He paused. "Tell me, do you really trust her judgement right now? Her behaviour?"

Catherine felt her temper rise. "What I believe is irrelevant. But it's evident she trusts _us_. She called because she _knew _we'd follow. _That _I trust."

"So what do you want to do?" Brass challenged. "Go down there?"

"I think we can at least get close enough to assess the situation. Get close enough to hear something. Then if we do need SWAT they'll at least be informed of the situation. There's barely a solid wall on that hut. If there's something happening, we'll hear it. I'm not saying we bust in like Yosemite Sam. We can be smart."

"Right," Warrick agreed.

Brass sighed, looking uncertain yet firm. Catherine looked to Grissom, appealing.

"Catherine ..." he said awkwardly, "As dreadful as we all feel, you'd be flouting protocol. If something went wrong, it'd be on your own head. You could lose your job."

Catherine swallowed the statement, feeling the responsibility settle heavily in her stomach. She was under no illusion as to what the consequences could be. Yet Nick and Warrick were also right; that the hut was too quiet, that Sara may be in lethal trouble. She had to get closer, to at least see if they could hear anything useful.

"I accept that," she said, looking Grissom square in the eye.

He nodded, his eyes soft with agreement, yet as a supervisor unable to join her.

"You're a senior," Brass said, torn but firm. "This goes wrong, you'll find a noose around your neck. We may not be able to cut it off."

"Fine," she said.

She took a step, but he caught her arm. His eyes were firm.

"And win or lose, when this is done, we're having a hard talk about protocol."

"Great," she said sardonically. "Save me a seat."

She pulled her arm free, and strode down to the car. A moment later her vest was strapped on tight, her gun in her hand, and with Warrick and Nick flanking her, they crept down the hill toward the hut.

XXX

They approached from the hut's blind side, the side facing which had no window. Catherine walked softly over the dark ground, careful to avoid the crunch of stepping on sticks or scrub. She held her gun aloft, adrenaline pulsating. As they neared, she held a finger to her lips. Nick and Warrick nodded. The walls of the hut were thin at best. It was not until they were feet away that she saw the fence.

It was an old fence encircling the hut, withered fence posts supporting lines of barbed wire a few inches apart. Catherine stopped as she reached it. It was too tall to step over, especially silently.

Nick crouched beside her, stretching two wires apart.

Catherine shook her head; it was too narrow to fit through.

Warrick walked the length of the fence, peering around the corner. He ducked back immediately, mouthing "window".

Catherine eyed the lowest wire, the few inches underneath.

"Too narrow," Nick whispered.

But Catherine handed him her gun, and unclipped her holster and handcuffs. She dropped to the dusty ground, flat on her back as Warrick stood with his gun poised, providing cover. With a nervous look, Nick stretched the wire to its limit. With a deep breath she eased under, heart hammering as the wire grazed her nose. It barbs dropped over her mouth, a taste of rust in her mouth, before scraping tight over her vest. She held her breath, the wire tight. She knew Warrick and Nick would be unable to follow.

When free, she crouched again, retrieving her gun and possessions from Nick. The light from the hut flickered ominously. Suddenly it felt too close.

She froze as she heard a voice, rough and masculine.

"You just gonna stand there all night?"

She snapped her head up, but knew instinctively it was not directed toward her. She heard then Sara's voice, deathly calm.

"You'll sit there for as long as I tell you to."

Catherine's nerves prickled; Sara was not the hostage, she was the _perpretator_. She threw a stunned look to Warrick and Nick. Without a second to waste, Warrick hurried back toward Brass and Grissom. The rules did not apply if Sara was the criminal, if _Sara _was the one they would have to potentially shoot down ...

She momentarily closed her eyes, holding her nerve.

Reed's anger punctuated the air. "You _can't _do this! You can't make me -"

A sharp click sounded a gun being cocked. Catherine stood by the hut's wall; she could hear Reed's heavy breathing; his lung fulls of terror.

"All right, okay! I'll -"

"You'll listen," Sara said, with lethal calm. "I listened to you for six hours. Now it's your turn."

"What do you _want _from me?" he demanded.

"I'd like an explanation," she said.

"I already told you everything!" he cried desperately. "I didn't hurt you! You can't -"

"Oh, I can," Sara said, an edge to her voice. "And you did hurt me."

In the distance Catherine saw Grissom, Sofia and Brass pulling on vests. Brass handed Sofia a spare gun. Catherine threw them a look to hurry, but could not tell if they saw it.

"I didn't put a _hand _on you. Not one you didn't want."

"You held me at gunpoint. With my own weapon."

"I wasn't going to hurt you, okay? You were flying off the handle, I just wanted you to _listen _-"

"So I suppose that's why you followed me to the hospital? To get me to listen?"

"_Yes_. You had your cops everywhere, there was an ambulance. I had to make sure you were okay -"

Catherine held her nerve, stifling the urge to shoot him through the wall. She settled for a hurried glance to the others. They were jogging as fast as they dared while remaining silent. Nick was scouting the fenceline, checking for a weak spot. But the wire was too rusty, too creaky, and any move would raise the alarm and put them in lethal danger.

"Very noble," Sara replied dryly.

"I was trying to do the right thing, okay? I just wanted to apologise -"

"You _shot _at a friend of mine. You almost killed her."

Brass, Sofia and Grissom had reached the fence. Sofia's eyes locked onto the hut.

"She came at me with a gun! She was shouting at me like I was a criminal! I only shot to warn her off, I _missed _-"

"That's not the way she tells it," Sara said coldly.

"I didn't hurt her, okay? I didn't hurt _anyone_."

"You went to the homes of my team. We have the evidence of the taxi driver. You went to hunt them down."

"I don't even know where they live! I don't _know _them!"

"You took the photo from my apartment," Sara continued calmly. "You knew their surnames. You came to the hospital to shoot me, to finish the job, but when that went sour - when I was in lockdown at PD - you had to change your plan. So you set out to harm the other members of the CSI team to avenge your girlfriend's suicide. But they weren't home."

"This is _crap_, this is -"

Catherine exchanged a look with Grissom. His eyes were wide with panic. She could feel the tension escalating in both Sara and Reed. They did not have long, and no time to plan. She walked to the corner of the hut, peering around to see an old wooden door halfway along. She stopped a foot short of the door. She saw her colleagues following the fenceline, trying to find an easy way through.

Reed was still shouting. "You don't believe that! If you did, you would have had me arrested! I saw the news, the hundreds of cops! You wouldn't have come out here alone."

"You don't know that I did," Sara replied.

Catherine held her gun tight. She knew now that Sara's summons had been deliberate. She had told them earlier in order to buy time to talk with him, to face him before she decided their fates. She wondered if Sara knew now that they were just outside ...

"Then where are they?" he demanded. "_Huh_? You could have had half the state here. But you don't believe I'm guilty, you're here _alone_."

"Yeah," Sara breathed softly. "And I'll probably be fired just for being here."

"Then why are you?"

There was a long pause. Catherine eyed the latch on the door. It was open a few millimetres; she would not even have to turn the handle.

"Because ... I care," Sara said quietly. "I shouldn't, but I do."

Silence fell. A gentle breeze sprang up across the desert; sand particles skated across the land.

"I thought you were something special," Sara admitted. "That it had been something special, but instead -"

"It was," Reed said tenderly.

"Yeah," Sara said. "Maybe it was."

A moment passed.

"So what happens now?" Reed asked.

Sara did not answer.

Gun held tight, Catherine finally pushed open the door.

"You get arrested."

She trained her gun on Reed, who was cowered in an old wooden chair. Sara stood across the room, her gun poised. The hut itself was old and dirty; cobwebs hanging from every corner, old disused furniture piled up on the dirt floor.

Sara did not look surprised at her appearance. Reed's eyes widened, in shock, and in fierce accusation at Sara.

"Cuff him," Catherine ordered, holding out her cuffs to Sara.

Sara eyed them, but did not move. Somewhere behind her she heard her colleagues clambering over the barbed wire fence, noise no longer mattering.

"Cuff him, Sara!" she ordered.

The tip of Sara's gun lowered, and at least she moved. She took the handcuffs, and without a word, moved toward Reed.

In an instant there was a crash as Reed flew; swiping an arm at Sara and knocking her from her feet. She fell with a thud, her gun skittering out of reach. As Catherine moved to fire he lunged, seizing the gun barrel and swinging her around hard. She held her balance, swung a knee up toward his groin, but missed.

His fist connected square on her abdomen. Excruciating pain split her torso, and then her head as the room went black. She felt a desk connect with her back as she fell, dust in her nostrils.

The world span, tilting to and fro in dizzy blackness. Somewhere in the distance she heard Brass screaming, but he was too late. There was the click of a gun, and three deafening shots tore the air.

* * *

_I've spent the last week tossing up what to do from here. There are two clear paths I could take. I could wrap it up neatly in one more chapter - forgive and forget - or I could be more realistic to the situation. Guess I'll think about it._


	10. Chapter 10

Consciousness returned like a drip feed, one fragment at a time. Head spinning, the floor felt uneven, like a ship's deck on turbulent waves. She tried to grip it to steady herself, felt coarse dust beneath her fingertips.

Far distant voices gradually seeped through her cloudy consciousness.

Brass' came first, fast and panicked.

"Jesus Christ ... _Catherine_!" His words barked. "Grab the other end of that! Get this stuff off -"

She became aware of something heavy pressing into her back, pinning her down. Somewhere distantly Grissom was calling her name. There was a stampede of rushing feet, then Sofia's commanding voice.

"Get the other end -"

"That's it -"

Sharp wooden crashes reverberated in her ears; the sound of rubble flying as they dug. A moment later the pressure on her back vanished, though the pain didn't. Her back and abdomen felt twisted in the wrong order. Sharp pain pierced her torso; her head throbbed.

She heard Grissom's voice. "Catherine! Can you hear me?"

His urgent fingers slipped to probe her neck, her pulse.

"She's alive -"

She heard Warrick. "_Cath_?"

"Catherine, are you hurt?"

Her head spun. Amid the turbulence scraps of memory returned. Shouting, a fight, and three gunshots ... But though her torso and head throbbed, there was no hot pain of a gunshot wound. It was not her that was dead.

"I'm fine, I -"

She gasped the words through her pain, fighting to raise her head to see who was shot. The dusty hut swam into view.

"Reed's dead," Grissom provided. "Sara shot him down. He had your gun trained on you."

Though her head throbbed, the dizziness eased. She saw Grissom, Warrick, Brass and Sofia all kneeling around her, concerned. Nick stood beside Sara, who seemed to be in shock. She stared at something on the floor across the room. Her gun was still half-raised.

"You okay?" Brass asked. "Need help?"

She saw deep concern in his eyes, that he was a split second away from summoning an ambulance. She forced herself to move, determined to head him off.

"No, I'm fine," she said, projecting confidence. "I'm good."

She accepted Warrick's helping hand as she stood, felt Grissom's on her back. They did not let go immediately, held her until she nodded she was okay.

Her eyes fell to Reed across the room, sprawled on his back. Blood seeped from the three gunshot wounds through his torso. His face was frozen in shock. She recognised her own gun still in his hand. Opposite him, Sara had still not broken her gaze.

Sofia moved near, eyeing the limp weapon. Her voice was gentle yet firm. "Let me take that -"

Sara did not resist, did not seem to even notice her presence.

For a moment silence gripped the room, the sense that it was all finally over sinking with relief into her veins. Her torso and back still twisted in pain, the spot on her cheek where he had punched her throbbed. She fought off a wave of dizziness, willing to stay on her feet.

She looked to Sara.

"You okay?"

Sara nodded blankly, still in shock. "Uh-huh."

"It's over," Nick told her soothingly, arm around her shoulders. "You're okay now, all right?"

She nodded again, uncomprehending.

Catherine moved to squeeze her arm. "You can relax. It's done."

She felt more piercing pain twist in her abdomen. Feeling the sudden overwhelming urge to leave, she squeezed Sara's arm briefly.

"I'll be back in a minute."

She did not wait for a reply, heading for the door. She heard Brass call after her.

"Catherine?"

"I'll call it in!" she called confidently.

She was grateful when they did not debate the point. She found herself then in the freedom of the cool night-time desert, the fresh air against her bruised face. She breathed in deeply, hoping it would swill the pain away from her burning stomach. She was mentally assessing the damage just as Sofia unexpectedly fell into stride beside her. They walked silently for a minute before she spoke, when they were well clear of the hut and heading up the starlit slope.

"You really okay?" Sofia asked.

"Fine," Catherine replied. Seeing Sofia still watching, she added, "I just need a minute."

Sofia nodded, understanding. She glanced over her shoulder, checking they were alone.

"I keep a first aid kit in the back of my truck," she offered. "There's some painkillers in there, some gauze to wipe the blood."

Unaware she had been bleeding, Catherine nevertheless thanked her. As they reached the cars Sofia peeled off, taking the radio from the front. Catherine headed to the back of the SUV, opening the doors. In the low light it took her a moment to find the first aid bag, but realised as she opened it that her temple did in fact sting. She touched it tentatively, and found blood on her fingertip. Sighing, she sat on the edge of the tray, looking out into the starlit desert, grateful that her colleagues were all too occupied with Sara to pay attention to her. It allowed for a precious moment alone, her and the twisting pain in her abdomen.

As she sat, willing the throbbing to ease, she overheard Sofia talking on the radio.

"Control, this is Detective Curtis."

A female answered. "Go ahead, Sofia."

"You can call off the backup, we have a secure scene here. CSI Sidle is safe and unharmed."

"Roger that. And the suspect?"

"You'll find three bullets in his chest."

"Will you be requiring EMS?"

"Send a bodybag along with the coroner. No fanfare."

"Confirmed."

The call ended. The pain in Catherine's abdomen increasing, she sat with her elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Suddenly she felt hot; the bullet proof vest was stifling, yet she was too weak to remove it. She felt too hot and weak to even pull at the velcro strapping on her back.

"How're you doing back there?" Sofia called.

Catherine's head spun, the world dipped. She gripped the tailbar of the truck hard, and tried hard to keep her voice level.

"We got any water?" she replied.

Sofia's reply was casual. "Sure."

There was the crunch of desert sand as she crossed to the next car, soft thuds as she opened and closed the passenger door.

"I'll tell you one thing, I'm glad this is over. I feel like I haven't slept in -"

She broke off abruptly.

Somewhere in the far distance - across a horizon - Catherine heard her voice echo.

"Catherine?"

The world spun, hot and heavy. Her sweaty hands slipped in effort to grip the tailbar.

"Catherine!"

There were distant thudding footsteps, a frantic hand pushing back her hair.

"Oh my God -"

Unable to sit upright any longer, Catherine slumped forward, forehead on her knees. The world swayed perilously.

"GRISSOM! WE NEED SOME HELP UP HERE!"

The world was silent.

"BRASS!"

Catherine held her eyes closed, the world spinning beyond control.

Sofia's voice coaxed somewhere nearby. "Talk to me, Catherine."

But Catherine couldn't. In the distance she heard jogging, people panting as they came up the hill. Suddenly she was amongst a swarm, Sofia at the centre shouting instructions.

"Get on the radio! Get EMS here _immediately_!"

She heard Sara's voice. "What's going on?"

There were hurried footsteps as they rounded the back corner of the car, then Grissom's voice.

"Oh my God -"

Brass' panicked voice assailed her ears. "Control, this is Jim Brass, we need EMS here immediately, we have a CSI down ..."

"What happened?" Grissom demanded.

"I don't know," Sofia said quickly. "She came back here to clean up, I went to get her some water, and found her like this."

Grissom's voice was suddenly close, and very clear. "Catherine, can you hear us?"

His fingers slipped under her folded form to search for her pulse, then probed her forehead.

"She's burning up!"

Brass' commentary continued. "... she's been physically assaulted, is semi-conscious and in a lot of pain. Nature of injuries is unknown at this stage but you'd better get here fast ..."

"We need to get the vest off, cool her down -"

Suddenly she felt claustrophobic. She felt them leaning over her, hands reaching for her back, slipping towards the piercing pain in her back and stomach. Fear caught her, lifting her temporarily out of the fog.

"No, don't -"

She lifted a hand, trying to push them away.

"I know you're in pain Catherine, but we need to take off your vest," Grissom said clearly, hand on her shoulder. "Your temperature's skyrocketing, we need to get it down until the EMS get here. We'll be incredibly gentle, okay?"

"Don't touch me, I -"

She trailed off in a wave of dizziness, consciousness nearly leaving her.

"You can trust us, Catherine," Sofia said clearly.

The world swayed, black and without form. She felt Sofia leaning over her, fingertips tugging with extreme caution at the velcro on her back. Grissom's hands were firm on her arms.

She heard Sara's voice. "She's going to pass out. We'd better get her on the ground."

Nick replied, somewhere close. "I'll get a blanket ..."

"Keep talking to us Catherine," Grissom said. "Try to stay conscious."

She fought the black cloud, but it pressed in upon her.

"Cath, can you tell us where the pain is?" Warrick asked. "Can you point?"

She tried to gather the reins, to haul her brain out of its unravelled fever and into some order. She felt Sofia finish with the straps and take the edges, gently lifting it up to her neck. Grissom pulled her hands away, helping Sofia lift it over her head. They put it aside, and the cool night air grazed her white tank top. Even so she still felt dizzy, the pain and heat too intense.

She fought to gain control, to find her voice. "Grissom -"

"I'm here," he assured.

She heard her own voice tremble. "Something's wrong ..."

"All right," he said. "Just stay calm. Don't panic. We're going to help, but you need to tell us where the pain is. Can you point?"

Again she fought for control, fending off her dizziness.

"My head's spinning," she confessed.

"He hit you in the head," Warrick said. "I think you've got a concussion."

"No, it's not that, it's -"

But she trailed off, unsure. She felt the pain swelling in her abdomen, and something strangely sharp in her back.

"I think I've hurt my back," she said. "A vertebrae -"

"A spinal injury?" Grissom repeated.

"From the desk," Warrick said. "That thing weighed a tonne, landed straight on her back."

She heard Sara's voice. "There can't be any damage to the spinal cord, she walked up here."

"Do you feel any numbness?" Grissom asked. "Any parasthesia?"

She shook her head, the questions overwhelming. The heat prickled against her skin, sent her brain matter cascading against her skull. The pain in her abdomen still throbbed. She tried yet again to explain.

"Something's torn, something's -"

She moved a trembling hand toward her abdomen, not daring to touch.

"Do you mean you have an abdominal injury?" Sofia asked, alarmed.

Catherine nodded. "Something's wrong ..."

"All right," Grissom said, tone changing as he resumed control. "Let's get you on the ground before you collapse."

She felt arms slip around her to help, and she leaned into them. An arm slipped under her knees, and then she was carried the short distance to the ground. A woollen blanket was laid out ready, and they placed her on top of it.

Almost immediately Sofia produced a wet cloth, and held it to her forehead. The cold water dripped in rivers down her skin.

"Try to stay as still as possible," Grissom said, voice tense. "Don't move unless you have to."

Catherine placed a palm flat against the woollen blanket, trying to stop the world spinning. She caught blurred glimpses of her colleagues as she turned her head each way, trying to catch something. Her entire body was thick with heat, as if her cells were melting.

"It's too hot," she gasped.

She felt her heart skip a beat, fluttering dangerously. Her ragged breathing echoed around her.

"Stay calm, Catherine," Grissom said firmly.

"_Damn_, we need some ice -" Warrick echoed.

Nick's voice was heavy with warning. "Her pulse is flying ..."

"Gil, it's -"

But the effort of the words was beyond her. She grasped pitifully at the hem of her tank top, the boiling cotton strangling her torso.

"Do you need to take that off?" Grissom asked.

She turned her head, back and forth, gripped in fever and intense pain. She tugged at the hem.

"Catherine?" Sofia prompted.

The world spun. Somewhere in the distance she could hear Brass yelling demands on the radio.

"Something's wrong," she repeated weakly.

She gasped for breath, struggling to draw in lungfulls of the cool desert air.

Grissom's voice came clear again. "Catherine, do you trust me?"

His words blurred, slipping into one another. She had no energy to untangle them. The world faded -

With a firm voice, Grissom took charge. "Give me a hand -"

Suddenly his firm hands were on the hem of her shirt. Her own fell limply aside.

She heard Sara's voice. "You can't -"

He cut her off. "We need to get her temperature down, or else she's in trouble."

"She's in trouble now," Warrick said.

Catherine felt someone take her arms. For a moment she resisted, her instincts wanting to protect her abdomen from their hands.

"Arms up, Catherine," Sofia said clearly.

"Don't hurt me," she said weakly.

She felt a twinge of embarrassment as she heard her own irrational words, but it was quickly swept aside by Sofia's calm voice.

"You're going to be fine, we're just going to lower your temperature. Just stay very still."

Catherine let her lift her arms above her head, and they carefully lifted her tank top over her head. She felt immediate relief as the cool night air soothed her burning torso. Her dizziness dipped a notch.

A strange silence dropped, broken after a moment by Warrick.

"Holy mother of -"

He fell abruptly silent, as though swiftly warned by someone else.

The silence stretched, ominous and frightening.

"What's wrong?" she breathed.

More silence. She felt fear prickle the air.

"Nothing's wrong," Sara said, with transparent calm. "You're going to be fine, Catherine."

She felt a stab of impatience. "Cut the crap, Sara."

She searched for reason, and through her dizziness managed to open her eyes to find Grissom's. She saw fear rattling his irises. He quickly stifled it.

"You have a nasty bruise," he said truthfully. "I think the blow he delivered to your stomach has caused you to bleed internally. You may have even ruptured an organ."

It took a second for her to absorb his words - her brain barely able to register anything more than the incredible pain - but when they did she felt the first pulse of pure fear. An organ rupture. She was experienced enough as a CSI to know what that meant. Even on the strip it was life threatening, on the ground in the remote desert, it was insurmountable odds in favour of the crematorium.

"Catherine?" Grissom prompted.

He was looking at her as though he had asked her a question, but she did not recall one. In the background she heard Brass, talking low.

"... level of consciousness is patchy, more out than in ... her awareness is low ..."

She forced her eyes to focus, inclined her head a centimetre to catch a glimpse of her pants undone, pulled down a few inches to cool her. A section of her black underwear was exposed. She wondered when that had happened, did not remember a thing. Her fear intensified. It was accompanied by a wave of acidic nausea, inching up her throat.

"Catherine, did you hear us?" Grissom asked.

She wondered what she was meant to have heard.

In the distance she heard Warrick. "Cath?"

The nausea bubbled into her throat, hot like poison. She shook her head, restless with heat and pain. The world dipped -

A strange choking noise ...

"She's choking!" Grissom yelled. "She's choking on her own vomit! Turn her head! _Turn _her!"

His hand locked her jaw, turning her head to the side. Other hands were on her body, rolling her into the recovery position.

"Vomit it out, Catherine," he encouraged.

Blackness took her, tumbling her around in a vortex. Was that Nick shouting? Warrick?

"Spit it out, Catherine," Sofia said loudly.

She was faintly aware of her internal muscles convulsing, her throat lurching. She felt something wet leave her mouth. It poured onto the ground against her cheek. The wetness felt hot against her skin, hot from her body temperature.

"Clean it away from her mouth," Grissom said. "Don't make her lie in it."

A damp cloth wiped at her face, scraped at the desert dust on the ground.

She searched the dizzy blackness for her last remaining dregs of consciousness.

"You gotta get me outta here," she pleaded.

She heard a whimper in her voice, realised her eyes were wet.

"We have an ambulance on the way, Catherine," Sofia said loudly.

"You just hang in there," Nick echoed. "It's gonna be fine, okay?"

The blackness closed in. She knew there was no time, they did not understand ...

"Can't wait that long," she whispered into the ground.

"Hang in there, Catherine," Nick repeated. "We're gonna get you safely to the ER, okay? We promise."

"You gotta get me ... into the car ..."

There was an ominous hesitation.

"We can't, Catherine," Grissom said. "It's too dangerous."

She was too weak to move, but stretched out trembling fingers into the darkness.

"Help me up ..."

Sara's voice was soft. "Catherine ... if we move you, we'll kill you."

She felt a wave of anger at Sara's voice. It was Sara's recklessness that had pulled her into the desert, that was now killing her. Sara and her loose cannon attitude ...

Lindsey flitted through her mind, her mother ...

"Go to hell, Sara."

And the darkness took her.

XXX

Thereafter, she registered things only in pieces. She drifted, the dizzy blackness occasionally wavering into faint consciousness. When she next became aware of her surroundings, she knew instinctively that some time had passed. No one was shouting anymore. She felt Grissom's fingers clamped into her wrist, monitoring her pulse. She felt a rush of gratitude that he had not left, that they had held to their promise.

She moved a finger, tracing a path in the dust.

"I think she's awake again," Warrick observed.

"She's drifting," Grissom said.

He squeezed her hand firmly, reassuring. She relaxed again, grateful.

As she lost consciousness again, she felt a woman's fingers gathering her hair back into a ponytail. She felt an elastic tighten.

"Let's keep it safe out of the way," Sofia explained, holding her shoulder.

She wondered faintly if she had been vomiting again, realised she must be. She drifted unconsciousness before she could figure it out.

The second time she returned, it was to hear Grissom talking. He spoke as if answering her question, though she did not remember asking any.

"We can't give you water, Cath. You're going to need surgery."

She felt disappointed. Someone dabbed at her lips and cheeks with a damp cloth. It was not enough.

"Is she conscious?" Brass asked softly.

"Delirious," Sofia whispered back.

She tried to open one eye, anxious. She failed, head spinning.

"You're okay, Catherine," Sofia reassured. "We're right beside you. We won't leave."

"We're right here, Cath," Grissom echoed.

She felt another surge of gratitude, that Sofia and Grissom both seemed to have a grip on the situation, that they understood what she needed.

Safe within their promise, she let herself slip again, drifting into the painless world of unconsciousness.

The third time she woke, the desert was alive with a cacophony of noise. She heard engines revving and sirens wailing, multiple dull thuds of slamming car doors.

She opened her eyes, feeling hope edge through her agony. She only had the energy for one word.

"Ambulance..?" she breathed.

"It's SWAT," Brass said apologetically. "Our backup."

She heard him rise to meet the herd jogging toward them. She fluttered her eyes open, focusing on Sofia beside her, just in time to see her swiftly unzip her windbreaker. She shed it quickly from her shoulders and moved to lay it gently over her torso, covering her exposed lingerie. She tucked it in around her, felt Nick help.

"Wandering eyes," she explained, looking beyond her to someone behind.

Catherine's eyes caught Sara, sitting close by. Her face was stoic and silent. Catherine sensed something strange; that Sara seemed to be deliberately sitting back, as if unwelcome. She did not offer reassurances or affection like the others. A faint sense of deja vu touched her, that she had said something damaging, but could not remember what.

She drifted again before she could riddle it out, hearing Sofia shout as she faded.

"Can she have some privacy please?"

The last time she woke, it was to siren lights flashing across her face. Unfamiliar hands were all over her. A plastic oxygen mask was strapped to her face, something rigid and hard against her back.

She heard Grissom talking fast, urgent and scared.

"... She was complaining of a spinal injury before she lost consciousness, make sure you tell them to check for fractures. She's bleeding internally in the abdomen, has been in severe pain. Her pulse is irregular, it's deteriorated dangerously over the last half hour ..."

Someone was strapping her to the spinal board. She felt disoriented, struggled to focus. She felt anxiety take over, unable to see her colleagues.

Grissom's face swam into view.

"They're paramedics, Catherine," he assured her. "They're taking you to hospital. You're going to be fine."

His hand gripped hers. She held it tight, terrified.

"Are you coming, Sir?" A strange voice asked.

"Absolutely," Grissom answered.

She was being carried. The pattern of stars above her shifted as they moved for the ambulance. There was a crash of metal as they slid her in.

She heard Brass. "We'll be right behind you."

"You'll be okay, Catherine!" Sofia called.

There were echoes from Nick and Warrick, and then the doors slammed closed.

XXX

The night was still young when they arrived at the hospital, the Las Vegas lights just beginning to glow, the distant rainbows visible from the carpark of the Desert Palm Hospital. Nick held on tight as Warrick swung into the spot with a screech of brakes. He leapt out of the car, ducking back just in time as Brass skidded in beside them. Sofia and Sara got out of the car, Brass taking a grip of Sara's elbow. He had not let her out of his sight since they had recovered her at the scene.

They jogged together toward the entrance, Nick taking two steps at a time, and rushed through the automatic doors into the emergency room. He paused for a second, scanning the crowd until he spotted Grissom at the admissions desk.

He hurried toward him.

"Grissom!"

He looked up, pale and grey.

"How is she?" Warrick asked, stopping beside him.

Grissom did not reply immediately. He finished signing the admissions form, and passed it back to the clerk with a "thank you". He gathered up Catherine's personal items left in his care: her wallet, keys and ID badge, and turned to walk with them toward a quiet waiting area. He turned to face them with a weary, haunted expression.

"She coded in the ambulance," he said. "They used the defibrillator."

The statement blindsided him. For a minute there was silence, the words giving a deadly echo. It took him a moment to catch them.

"But she's alive?" Sofia asked quickly.

Grissom did not confirm it. He hesitated, as if he wanted to debate the term.

"They think she has a ruptured spleen," he said. "They've taken her for surgery."

Nick could read the prognosis in Grissom's eyes. His stomach twisted, heavy.

"It looks bleak," Grissom finished.

They stared in shock, unable to speak.

"Jesus," Brass said weakly.

There was a dreadful pause.

"I have to call her family."

He deposited Catherine's things into Nick's hands, and dug for his cell phone. He retreated quietly up the corridor.

"Oh my God ..." Nick started.

He stared around, not knowing what else to say. The same shock was mirrored back at him from all directions. He saw his own stunned face reflected in the waiting room windows.

"If she coded in the ambulance there's no way she's going to survive surgery," Warrick said quietly.

Nick held up a hand, unable to bear the thought.

"Let's not go there, man," Nick pleaded. "Okay? Not yet."

But it was too late. The thought of Catherine dying had already settled heavily into his stomach, the vision of her funeral burning into his mind. No one in the force ever thought it would happen to them, and when it _did _... He did know whether he wanted to vomit, faint or punch something. He turned on the spot, feeling suddenly more helpless than he could ever remember feeling in his life. There was nothing to do but wait.

Sofia turned, a frustrated, weary hand over her eyes. She walked a few steps away, shoulders tense.

Sara, who had still not said anything, sank shell-shocked into a chair.

"I guess we wait," Warrick said.

"Yeah," Brass said weakly.

The two sat down. Nick did not join them, could not bear to merely _sit_. He turned on the spot, trying to think of some way to help, but coming up blank. He tried to blink away the hot tears in his eyes.

Brass gave a deep sigh.

"What were you thinking?" he asked quietly.

The question was directed at Sara. She looked up, brown eyes in gutted disbelief.

"You might as well talk to us," he said. "'Cause you know you're not gonna get a fairer hearing with Ecklie."

Sara stared.

"I did the right thing," she said simply.

Across the room Sofia turned around, stunned at the statement. "The right thing?"

Sara did not reply.

Sofia's eyes were lethal, her voice enraged. "She's _dying _in there, Sara."

"You're talking like it happened at my hand," Sara retorted.

"Oh, you think it didn't?" Brass questioned.

Nick watched as Sara stiffened, as her temper rose.

"I _shot _him. I saved her life."

Sofia spun around. "It shouldn't have been up for offer in the first place, Sara!"

Her shouting singed the room. Nick saw several distant people look up.

"You can't _gamble _with your colleagues' lives. You just can't _abuse _her trust and rush off carelessly into the desert to confront a killer when you _knew _she'd follow -"

"I never asked her to," Sara said quickly.

"You didn't?" Warrick asked, lines in his face etched hard. "You left Grissom the message. It sounded like a suicide note."

"I don't know why she -"

"Because she's _loyal_, Sara!" Sofia answered angrily. "I mean, damnit! _This _is why we have protocol. This is _why _we learn procedure. So you can get the job done without getting your friends _killed_."

The outburst sizzled.

A cold voice came from the doorway.

"I couldn't have said it better myself."

Nick glanced over to see Ecklie. He stood in his usual suit, but his eyes were menacing.

Eyes wet, Sara got up. "I have to go to the bathroom -"

"Oh, you wanna try that one again?" Brass asked. "Don't even think about it."

Sara faced him with forced calm. "I'm not pulling anything. I have to urinate."

"Then you can do it where you stand," Ecklie said viciously. "You don't get to _flee_, Sidle. Don't think you're going to run and hide in some cubicle. You're going to sit there and face it, just like Catherine has to with the mess you've landed her in. You're not clocking out until she does."

Sara's eyes burned, in both hurt and anger. Nick felt powerful pangs of sympathy, but did not dare move.

"_Sit down_," Ecklie ordered, jabbing a sharp finger at the seat. "If you value your career you'd better sit there and pray she lives."

For a long moment she sized him up, like two opponents facing a duel. But then at last she sat, and the agonising wait began.

* * *

_Been a long time since I've written an argument. It felt really good. Poor Sarah, but seriously, someone needed to drum some sense into her!_


	11. Chapter 11

In the waiting room, Nick sat, head clutched in his hands. Each minute drifted past with agonising slowness, as if time had been stretched and contorted. He could not help but watch the clock on the wall, tearing his eyes away each time only to find them drifting back, not believing only seconds had passed.

After the heated exchange, the mood had become one of painful silence. Grissom had been quick to whisk Ecklie away to a private conversation halfway up the corridor, leaving the rest of them with little to do but wait. Nick had taken the chair next to Sara. She sat hunched over, hand over her eyes, ignoring them all. He wanted to put his arm around her shoulders, but her body language was uninviting. Opposite him, both Brass and Warrick sat with moist eyes, shell-shocked. Sofia was still pacing in the corner, restless with worry.

"We have to hope for the best," Brass said quietly. His voice trembled.

"It'll take a while to operate," Warrick said. "Right now, no news is good news. As long as that corridor's clear she's all right."

Nick nodded, latching onto this thought. He swallowed, stubbornly holding back tears he felt on the verge of falling. He felt so tired. Exhausted and terrified.

It was a moment later that he overheard Grissom's voice, fragments of his conversation with Ecklie echoing softly down the corridor.

"... She's not responsible for her actions, Conrad. He terrorised her for six hours. The condition is well-known and documented. You can't fire her for having Stockholm Syndrome any more than you can Catherine for her ruptured spleen."

Ecklie lowered his voice, and Nick heard it ripple with worry. "Catherine's a supervisor, Gil. A valued member of the department. She's severely injured. Even if she lives there's still going to be a thorough investigation. We can't just sweep this one under the carpet."

"I'm not suggesting you do," Grissom said honestly. "But any investigation will reveal that Sara was the victim of a traumatic experience, and has a legitimate medical condition. If there's any fault to be found, it will be in the department's failure to administer medical aid."

There was a brief silence. "What do you propose?"

"Let me handle it," Grissom replied.

Nick listened for more, but the conversation seemed to have come to an end.

Silence settled. He saw his colleagues' scared eyes soften just as something trembled in his corner vision. He realised with a start that Sara was crying, her shoulders shuddering with silent sobs into her hands.

His heart broke in sympathy.

"Hey," he cooed, "it's okay -"

He put his arm around her trembling shoulders.

"No one's to blame, okay?" he soothed. "It's just one of those things that happens. People get hurt in the line of duty every day."

He saw his colleagues move as one, Warrick taking the seat on her other side, Brass kneeling in front of her.

"Hey, c'mon," he said gently, "it's okay. We didn't mean what we said. Everyone's just uptight. Scared."

"Grissom's right," Warrick added. "You're not to blame."

Sara didn't reply. Nick felt her shoulders shuddering as she cried.

Sofia returned from the receptionist's desk, having borrowed a box of tissues. She drew a few and slipped them into Sara's hands.

"It'll be okay," she assured. "She survived out there in the dust with us for forty minutes. Now she's with the best surgeons in Nevada. Odds are she'll be fine."

But Nick could tell Sara was not reassured, if she had heard at all.

At that moment the automatic doors opened, and a gust of cool night air breezed into the waiting room. Catherine's mother entered in a flurry of marching heels, leading a sobbing Lindsey along by the hand. She made a beeline for Grissom. She looked terrified.

"Oh, jeez," Brass said, face collapsing at the sight of Lindsey's hysteria.

Nick felt Sara glance up. Her tremble became a shattering shudder.

Nick glanced around for an escape route.

"Why don't we get some air?" he suggested.

She did not reply.

"C'mon," he said, gently taking control.

He held her, urging her to her feet. His arm solid around her shoulders, he guided her through the crowd to the automatic doors. She kept a hand over her eyes, embarrassed as the tears slipped down her cheeks.

He saw Grissom break off mid-sentence to Ecklie, worried eyes connecting.

"We'll be just outside," Nick told them.

He did not wait for an answer, but led her out into the quiet ambulance lot. A small garden path snaked its way peacefully around the building, and he led her along it until they came to a secluded seat amongst a garden of leafy palms.

He sat her down, handing her some more clean tissues.

"It's okay," he told her. "We'll just sit here for a while. Take some time out."

Reading that she was too upset to talk, he kept his arm around her, rubbing her back gently. After a while her sobs seemed to ease, and she began to rub her eyes. The used tissues were clenched in her hand.

"I've killed my colleague," she said, voice shaking.

"No you haven't," he countered quickly. "You've done no such thing, okay? Her injury was just an accident, he was resisting arrest. It's just one of those things. And aside from that, we have no reason to believe she won't be fine in there. They're world class doctors. She's in good hands."

But Sara shook her head, dismissing his goodwill. He had never seen her look more miserable.

"No one's to blame, okay?" he reiterated. "When Catherine wakes up, I'm sure she's gonna tell you the same thing."

Sara stifled another sob, sniffed.

"She's pissed," she corrected. "You heard her out there, what she said. If she lives, I'm still responsible for her injury, the scars that she'll bear for the rest of her life. And if she doesn't -"

She broke off, choking on tears.

"It's not like that, okay?" Nick said firmly. "She's gonna be fine. You're not to blame, you've been through an ordeal. You had Stockholm Syndrome; you were traumatised."

But his words fell on deaf ears. She stared at the ground, trembling through her tears.

He decided to change tactics.

"Look, I'm gonna tell the truth, okay? I want you to listen."

He paused until she turned her head slightly.

"You're _not _responsible. But despite that, I promise you, that if the worst happens, we're gonna figure it out, okay? We'll work through it. Every last detail."

It was a short speech, but his firm insistence seemed to stifle her tears.

"Okay?" he pressed.

And though crying, she nodded.

XXX

An hour later, Nick still sat by Sara's side, secluded on the garden seat. Though she had ran out of tears, her face was still red from crying, the occasional sniff still audible. She had shown no desire to rejoin the crowd inside, and he did not blame her. Instead, he kept her company, sitting for the most part in comfortable silence, rubbing her back to calm her. It had not been long after his promise that Grissom had joined them, sitting on Sara's other side. Neither of them had been able to re-engage her in any significant conversation, and he could feel the terror of Catherine's prognosis hanging over them like a dark cloud. There was little to do but wait. Wait, and keep her company.

It was some time later still that he sensed movement in his corner vision, and looked up to see Sofia hesitating to approach, concerned.

"Knock, knock," she announced softly.

Sara looked up. He saw both hope and fear cram into her eyes.

Sofia smiled.

"She's out of surgery. They say it looks good."

Nick felt relief wash through him. He sighed, laughing and smiling all at once.

"Thank God," Grissom said.

"See?" Nick said, rubbing Sara's back encouragingly. "It's gonna be okay."

But Sara seemed in shock, searching Sofia's eyes.

"Diagnosis?" Grissom prompted.

"Ruptured spleen," Sofia confirmed. "Massive internal bleeding, two fractured vertebrae, shock. They've stopped the bleeding and stabilised her. She's in the ICU. Technically it's family only, at least until morning, but they're going to let us in for a moment. Apparently she asked for us."

She passed Nick and Sara an apologetic look, in which he understood that the invitation had been restricted to Sofia and Grissom. Nevertheless, he understood, and nodded his encouragement. It was good news that Catherine was at least alive enough to be able to ask for _someone_, even if the request had been made in her disoriented state. It had been Sofia and Grissom who had naturally assumed command of the situation out in the desert, and in whom Catherine had blindly placed her trust when she had felt herself slipping away. Neither of them had budged from her side throughout the gruelling wait, offering countless confident reassurances, holding her hand and caring for her. Nick knew his and Warrick's evident fear had done little to comfort her.

"That's fine," he said. "You just make sure she's okay."

Grissom nodded, but as he stood he pulled Sara with him.

"Walk with us," he insisted.

And Nick understood - that though Catherine might be out of the woods, Sara wasn't. He was not going to let her out of his sight.

XXX

They found Catherine tucked up in bed in the quiet ICU room. Pale and still, the only sign of life came from the monitors, the regular beep of her heart and respiration echoing reassuringly around the small room. Grissom approached tentatively. Her face was even paler than it had been in the ambulance. She looked weak.

Groggy, her eyes fluttered open a millimetre. Her fingers flexed on the crisp white sheet.

"You're okay, Cath," he said calmly. "You're fine."

He lay a hand gently to her wrist, reassuring, and saw her visibly relax at his voice.

Her fingers weakly touched the IV tube, then the bed rail.

"You're safe," Sofia echoed. "You're in the ICU."

There was a pause.

"Am I okay?" she whispered.

"You're fine," Grissom replied. "The operation was a success. You just need to rest."

She gave the faintest nod, and her eyes fell closed. The rhythmic beat of the machines echoed loudly in the room.

Sofia unwound the call button from the bed rail. She slipped it under Catherine's fingers.

"It's the call button," she said. "Press it if you need anything."

Silence settled in the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Grissom saw Lindsey in the doorway. Her face was still red and damp.

Sofia held out a hand, inviting her closer.

"It's okay," she told her. She stroked her blonde hair. "Your Mom'll be fine. She just needs sleep."

Lindsey peered over the bed rail, but did not comment.

It was a few minutes later that he left the room, and exhausted, meandered back down the corridor to the solemn group waiting.

Brass' eyes were glistening and tired.

"She okay?"

"I think she'll be fine," he replied.

But he felt only mild relief in saying it, his heart still wrenched and heavy with the pain of Sara. Her brown hair was messy, her face tear-stained. She did not smile with relief at the news.

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as he caught sight of Ecklie up the corridor. He stood in an intent conversation with a professional-looking woman, who was nodding and listening closely.

"Her name's Dr. Anita Stevens," Brass supplied. "She works here at the hospital."

Grissom did not need to ask her position. The absence of it in Brass' statement only confirmed it for him. He studied her for a moment with interest, but she had the look of a professional, a psychiatrist who would be both intelligent and compassionate.

He looked to Sara, intending to ask if she was ready, but was met with a melancholy nod.

"I'll come with you," he offered.

And with a gentle hand to her back, he led her toward the doctor.

XXX

"Ms. Willows," a voice greeted.

A pause.

"Ms. Willows? How are you feeling this morning?"

In her hospital bed, Catherine forced open one eye to see a nurse leaning over her. She was a middle aged woman, one who had the look of experienced efficiency, and she was watching closely as Catherine fought to haul herself from the chains of exhaustion. The night had been long, punctuated by nurses leaning over her, checking her status. It had been several long hours before she had realised where she was.

"Are you with us this morning?" the nurse enquired.

She forced her eyes all the way open, and found herself in a private room, the hot Las Vegas sun streaming in through the window.

"Your colour's better," the nurse said, as she checked the IV bag. "You look better than you did a few hours ago."

"Where am I?" she asked.

She had a faint memory of being in the ICU, of people leaning over her. The memory was thin at best. Had it been Grissom? Sofia?

"A private room," the nurse replied. "You were moved from the ICU just before dawn, once your vitals had stabilised."

The curtain screeched on its rails as she pulled it around.

"How do you feel? Still dizzy? Disoriented?"

"I don't remember much," Catherine confessed.

She fought for her memories of the night, but found few. She recalled collapsing at the car in the desert, her friends' panic, but thereafter it faded.

"You were out of it for a while," the nurse answered, unworried. "You were in shock when they first brought you in, but then they operated to stabilise you; you began to improve once the anaesthetic wore off. You had your friends quite worried."

"They were here?"

"Pacing the halls all night," she answered. "I think they wore holes in their shoes."

She gave a friendly smile, working as she talked. She had removed the blanket, lifted her gown to check the wound, then replaced it and moved to measure her blood pressure. Catherine ignored the pressure on her arm, just as she tried to ignore the pain.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked.

She could not believe that half the LVPD could have lingered in the corridors without the nurses becoming curious about the night's events.

"Not much, I'm afraid," the nurse replied. "Your bosses were very tight-lipped. I gather they don't want stories going around."

"I'll bet," Catherine said.

She could imagine Grissom, Brass and Ecklie firing orders to the nursing staff that events were to be kept discrete. Especially after the hospital had already had the gunshot fired across the ER. A heavy police presence would only amplify the gossip now.

"But," the nurse went on, offering a sympathetic smile, "I have heard everyone's fine. There won't be any casualties from the night's events. You'll heal, given rest and time."

Catherine nodded, though it hadn't been what she'd wanted to know. Her head pounded with a flock of concerns; she closed her eyes, trying to close it off.

"Maybe your friend can tell you more."

Catherine opened her eyes again to see the nurse smiling at Sofia in the doorway. She looked tired, shadows under her eyes, her fingers clutching a large coffee. But she smiled confidently as she walked in.

"I'll be just outside," the nurse said.

Catherine thanked her. As her eyes met Sofia's, she searched for the most urgent question.

"How's Lindsey?" she asked.

"Safe with your mother," Sofia answered. "She took her home shortly after midnight, once you'd been stabilised. She's doing fine."

Catherine felt a small piece of relief. She would at least not have to worry too much about Lindsey.

"How about you?" Sofia asked, concerned.

"I'll live," she said.

She tried to detach her mind from the piercing pain; dwelling on it would do no good.

"Sara?" she probed.

"Resting," Sofia replied. "I've heard she's doing better."

"Better?" Catherine repeated.

The word sounded as if she had returned from somewhere, somewhere in the beyond. She held Sofia's eyes, pressing for detail.

Sofia held out for only a moment before sighing, too exhausted to argue.

"She broke down in the ER," she elaborated. "Nick had to take her outside, calm her down. Once we heard you were okay, Ecklie hooked her up with a psychiatrist. She was in there half the night."

"Is she okay?"

"Hard to say," Sofia admitted. "They counselled her for several hours, then released her into Nick's care. They declared her mentally unfit for questioning. Right now she's sleeping it off in Nick's spare room. Her career, any punishment, it's all early days. Too soon to tell."

"And Grissom?" Catherine asked.

"He's been locked in the jaws of PD for the last three hours, trying to defend her. Brass and I are due to join up with him soon. We have a date with the gallows in half an hour."

"You?" Catherine repeated, in disbelief. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Sofia shrugged. Suddenly Catherine saw how tired she was; the shadows under her eyes were deep. In the backs of her eyes - beyond the confident demeanour - she looked anxious. She doubted the coffee in her hand was her first, and it would be far from her last.

"Why are they coming after you?" Catherine repeated.

"There's little choice," Sofia said frankly. "They can't fire Sara. Grissom's pushing the line that as she had Stockholm Syndrome, she wasn't responsible for her actions. She has the backing of the hospital, and her psychiatrist will testify to the diagnosis. If questioned, we'll all be testifying that she was in fact traumatised when we first found her at her apartment. All in all, they can't lynch her for her actions. If they do, they're exposing themselves to a potential lawsuit, and a high profile one at that. The word is that we'll be disciplined for failing to render medical aid. They'll argue that Grissom, Brass and I, as the senior officers present, should have recognised her condition. That if we'd found her a psychiatrist at the start, none of it would have happened."

"Well to my memory we were somewhat distracted," Catherine said bluntly, recalling dodging bullets at the hospital.

"We were with her for hours afterward," Sofia admitted. "That won't hold."

Catherine sighed.

"I suppose I'm trapped in this too. I'm a supervisor."

"They won't come after you," Sofia said. "To their minds you've already been punished. You're safe."

There was a pause.

"This is crap," Catherine said bluntly. "No one's to blame for this, and least of all you. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Wrestle her into the shrink's office?"

In her mind, she tried to picture it, Sara's stubborn face if they had suggested she immediately get psychiatric treatment. She would have been lucky to come out alive after that conversation.

Sofia had no answer. After an awkward moment of silence she checked her watch.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I'd better be going. If I'm late it'll just give them more ammo."

"Good luck," Catherine replied.

Sofia drained the dregs of her coffee and dropped it into a nearby waste bin.

"We'll be back later," she promised.

She turned around when she reached the door.

"I'm glad you're okay."

And with a grim smile, she left.

XXX

It was late afternoon before Grissom finally broke free of his shackles, and made it out to Nick's house. When he arrived the sun was fading over the quiet neighborhood, and as he swung into the concrete driveway, Nick was already walking out to meet him. His face was creased in concern.

"How is she?" Grissom asked.

He did not stop to chat, moving as Nick fell into stride beside him.

"Sleeping in the spare room," Nick reported. "She didn't sleep so well at first, 'til she swallowed those pills the hospital gave her. She's been down for the count most of the day."

"Good," he replied.

He had the feeling that a long, genuine sleep was the best thing for her.

He entered the small hallway, and followed Nick's directions to a room at the rear of the house. The door was cracked open an inch, and he quietly rapped a knuckle. Hearing no answer, he pushed it open a little further. The room was dim and gloomy. After a second his eyes adjusted, and he could make out a sleeping form under the covers on a sofa bed.

"She's exhausted," Nick said softly.

His voice hinted that they should leave her, but Grissom hesitated. There was something too rigid about her form. He narrowed his eyes.

"Sara?" he probed.

The form did not move.

He firmed his voice. "I know you're awake."

There was a moment of silence, but then the doona rustled. It was all the opening he needed.

He looked to Nick.

"I'll be out here if you need anything," he volunteered.

He closed the door behind him. In the gloom, Grissom carefully padded his way toward the bed just as Sara reluctantly emerged from the covers. Her brown hair was messed from sleeping. Despite Nick's words, Grissom doubted she had slept at all. The shadows under her eyes were deeper than ever.

"Have you slept?" he asked.

"I prefer not to," she replied.

He narrowed his eyes further, suspecting immediately that she had had nightmares about the attack. Concern pained him.

"You can cut to the chase," she invited, as if willing to get it over with. "I know you're here to fire me."

"I only came to talk," Grissom countered.

He took a seat on the mattress.

"However if you want me to come to the point, I can," he offered. "As I've been explaining to the Sheriff, I can't fire someone for mistakes that happen on their own time. The incident at your apartment was personal. You weren't on the clock. Events stemming out of that didn't occur in your professional capacity. And I don't believe you're any less competent as a CSI than you were yesterday. Your actions were a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome, something you can't be held accountable for."

"I think that's a cop out," Sara dismissed.

She would not look at him, but he saw her eyes glistening.

"It's a legitimate condition," he argued gently. "The medical evidence in your case is clear."

Sara did not answer.

"I won't fire you," he promised. "But what does concern me is the damage to the team, the breach of trust when you fled the hotel."

Sara nodded miserably.

"They're furious," she admitted. "I don't expect them to forgive me."

"Have you asked them to?"

"They nearly slayed me in the ER," Sara replied. "I doubt they're receptive to an apology."

"They weren't angry with you, they were terrified for Catherine," Grissom corrected. "There's a difference."

Again, she did not answer.

"How do you feel about that?" he probed. "About Catherine?"

He knew he had hit the nerve when she refused to meet his eyes. Something in her seemed to shudder, and he wondered if it was guilt that had kept her awake.

"Do you think you can talk to her?"

"I doubt she's even conscious," Sara said.

"According to Sofia she's awake and coherent. Sofia even said she asked after you, that she was concerned."

"What are you saying?" Sara asked. "That my job's still open if I apologise?"

"A team can't function without trust," Grissom replied. "Can you mend it?"

Sara hesitated. "I don't know."

"Try," he said firmly. "You have four weeks."

"And if I can't?" Sara asked.

Grissom did not reply, though he knew the answer. If she could not mend it with the team, and with Brass and Sofia, a transfer was on the cards.

She seemed to gather the answer from his silence.

She sighed, nodding.

XXX

In the hospital room, the visitors came in a steady stream. Catherine had closed her eyes for only five minutes after Sofia's visit before Greg arrived, anxious and worried, followed by the lab technicians, Doc Robbins, several of the detectives, Sam, and amongst them her mother and Lindsey. Yet it was nearing evening before she finally saw those she craved to see - when she gently turned to see Brass and Sofia in the doorway.

"Did we wake you?" Brass asked, apologetic.

"No," she replied. "Come in."

As he strolled toward the bed she took in his exhausted expression, as though he had aged ten years in a few hours. Neither of them smiled; Sofia looked grey and weary.

"You look like you've been through the wringer," she commented.

Brass offered a tired nod.

"Yeah," he said. "Story's all over PD. Internal Affairs are investigating. We've been caught up most of the day."

He spoke as if apologising for not visiting sooner, but it was the least of Catherine's worries.

"Were they rough?" she asked.

"They didn't exactly offer us cream cakes."

"They're taking statements from everyone who was there," Sofia said. "Grilled us all up like a barbeque."

"Any verdict?" Catherine asked cautiously.

"There's word of a formal hearing," Brass said. "We'll all be summoned."

An apologetic look marred his features.

"We couldn't save you," he confessed softly.

"You don't have to protect me," she said.

He shrugged. "You've been through enough."

Touched, a brief moment passed.

"Anyway," he went on, "we heard from Grissom a half hour ago. He's bringing Sara over to see you."

"Good," she replied. "I'd like to see her."

She watched as Sofia's eyelids drooped. She looked ready to collapse.

"You look like you could use some sleep," she said.

"Yeah," Brass said truthfully. "We're both on our way home."

"Unless you want us to stay?" Sofia offered.

Catherine hesitated. Her tone seemed to imply she was going to need their backup. She felt confused.

"I think I'll be okay," she said uncertainly.

Brass and Sofia exchanged a glance, sharing something.

"What?" Catherine asked. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Catherine ..."

Sofia moved closer, looking awkward.

"Do you remember anything?"

Suddenly alert, Catherine skimmed through her few memories, but came up blank.

"It's a little hazy," she admitted.

"After you collapsed, you were delirious for a while. You said some things."

Catherine's heart hammered; a thousand private thoughts surged into her mind.

"What'd I say?"

Sofia's tone was gentle. "You ... implied she was responsible."

"In those words?" Catherine asked.

"I don't think we need to revisit your vocabularly," Brass interjected. "Suffice to say it was colourful. You used words even I'd never heard of."

Catherine's heart sank. She recalled suddenly being on the ground in the desert, catching a glimpse of Sara sitting back, disengaged.

Guilt swirling like nausea, it was a moment before she felt able to reply.

"How'd she take it?" she asked, not knowing if she wanted the answer.

"Not so well," Sofia said gently.

"If it's any consolation," Brass added, "it was nothing to what the rest of us said. And we had nothing like your excuse."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. The sudden onslaught of information was overwhelming. She felt dizzy.

"Things got a little heated in the ER," Sofia explained. "When you were still in limbo. Some comments were made, she got upset ..."

Catherine took in the hint of guilt on both their faces. She wondered who else had been involved. A second later she realised she did not need to know.

"Thanks," she said, recalling their offer. "But I think I'll be okay."

"Okay," Brass agreed. "But before we go, you might like to know that Grissom's given her an ultimatum. He told her he'll take her back if the team will. He wants her to make it up with you guys, apologise to me and Sofia."

She could not help wondering if Sara would consent to do it, and further - based on what she had just heard - if they would take it.

"Will you accept it?" she asked.

"From Sara Sidle, maybe," Brass said. "Not from the body snatcher we've had the last two days."

She looked to Sofia.

"I don't know what to think," Sofia confessed, looking worn out. "But you're the one in the hospital bed."

Her tone indicated she would follow Catherine's lead.

Catherine nodded, her head spinning.

"I'll let you know," she said.

They were interrupted as voices echoed in the corridor. A second later Grissom, Warrick, Nick and Sara entered the room. All four of them looked exhausted. At the rear of the pack Sara stood silent, hands buried in her jacket pockets, Grissom's hand ever so lightly on her back.

Nick and Warrick hurried past to greet her, looking relieved.

"Hey, how you doing?" Warrick cooed, leaning to peck her on the cheek. "You okay?"

"You look a lot better," Nick added, taking her hand.

"You sure gave us a scare last night," Warrick said.

"I'm fine," she said, waving them down.

"How's the pain?" Nick asked. "Bad?"

"I'm coping," she replied.

After a day of intense pain and enough drugs to start her own pharmacy, it was the most she could say.

Nick looked worried, but the moment was broken by Sofia.

"We'd better get going," she said, noting the sudden crowd in the room.

"Yeah," Brass agreed, nodding. He looked to Catherine. "We'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Take care," she replied.

She eyed their exhausted forms as they left, wondering if they would make it home safely.

"I'll walk them out," Grissom suddenly volunteered.

One of his eyebrows raised slightly, a hint to Warrick and Nick.

"Oh, uh ..."

Nick trailed off, catching on.

"Make sure they're okay to drive," Catherine suggested. "They look fatigued enough to wrap themselves around a tree."

"You got it," he covered. "We'll be back in a minute."

Both men joined Grissom at the door. Grissom gave a telling nudge on Sara's back, eyes directing her toward the bed.

He shut the door after them as they left.

Suddenly Catherine was alone with Sara, and an awkward silence engulfed the room.

It was a long moment before Sara broke it.

"Well, that was obvious," she said, chancing a small smile.

Catherine relaxed. As she did she noticed Sara's eyes take in the room. Ever the observer, the took in the IV drip, the heavy drugs, the fact that Catherine had not been able to sit up. Unlike the others, she did not immediately ask how she was. Catherine did not need to ask Sara, either.

"You wanna talk?" Catherine asked instead.

"If you're up for it," Sara said.

She nodded to the edge of the mattress.

"Take a seat."

Sara sat cautiously, only just on the edge of the mattress. She sighed, removing her hands from her pockets.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she said somberly, looking her in the eye. "I accept full responsibility for what I did. I never meant to endanger anyone in the team, for you to get hurt. I'm sorry that you did."

The apology was so sudden and deeply sincere, that Catherine was momentarily lost for words.

"You were ill," she said finally.

Sara nodded; though a dark shadow passed through her eyes.

"I'm also sorry if I breached your trust at the hotel. I know you tried hard to help. That it seems like I threw it back in your face."

Catherine bit back her agreement, instead sighing.

"I can't say it was your fault," she said. "I mean, your judgement at the hotel wasn't the best. But you were traumatised. We all knew that. And this injury is my own doing. I defied Brass' advice to run down that hill."

"Then why did you?" Sara asked.

"Because -"

She broke off, closing her eyes briefly.

"Because I was afraid," she admitted softly. "We were worried he was harming you."

She let her eyes show what they had envisaged; that he could have raped her, stabbed her.

Sara read her for a moment, then smiled, looking touched.

"Thanks," she said.

The memory of Sofia's words pushed into Catherine's mind.

"Look, Sara," she said, "I don't remember anything. But if I said something to you out there, I'm sorry."

There was a long pause.

Sara's expression was hard to read.

"Maybe we could call it even," Sara suggested. "Move on."

She wondered again what she had said when Sara failed to deny it, but eager to move on, she smiled.

"With pleasure," she agreed.

They exchanged a warm smile; the first hint of light that had hit Sara's eyes in days.

"All the same," Sara said suddenly, "I'd still like to help. If you ever need anything - an errand, a ride to any appointments - I'm free."

"Thanks," Catherine replied.

But as she spoke, a new possibility opened up to her, something that had played on her mind since her mother's visit earlier in the day.

"Actually, there is," she confessed.

She waited as Sara invited her to elaborate.

"I'm scheduled for release on Friday," she explained. "But it's on condition I have a responsible adult with me around the clock. My Mom's booked up, she has a standing date with Sam, Lindsey's too -"

Sara interrupted. "What time?"

She grinned.

Catherine smiled, yet hesitated.

"I'm not sure if I'll be good company," she said truthfully.

"I'd be glad to help," Sara repeated.

"Discharge is at ten," Catherine ventured.

"I'll be here."

* * *

_Was planning to finish the story off in this chapter, but now see that's not going to happen. So have instead cut it here, and am resigned to at least one more. Despite the apologies, Sara is still yet to explain, or talk about it. And she is yet to gain the forgiveness of the others, too. And the IR hearing approaches ..._


	12. Chapter 12

Trapped in her hospital bed, Catherine's week passed at a dawdle. After her colleagues' interrogation, news was conspicuously absent. Grissom, Nick and Warrick were quickly reeled back into the chaos of night shift, and Sofia and Brass too reported that they had heard nothing further. One of Catherine's nurses informed her that someone had come to take her formal statement, but after finding her vomiting ceaselessly in the bathroom, the nurses had quickly turned him away. She looked out for them the next day, but the corridor remained white and silent. Instead the long hours crawled past with a carousel of piercing pain, doctors and visitors, and she craved the arrival of Friday, when Sara finally arrived with a wheelchair and a smile, and helped her to the passenger seat of her SUV.

They were not far down the road when Sara swung into a McDonald's drive-thru, the car purring as they paused at the intercom.

"Thirsty?" Catherine guessed.

Sara smiled as she pushed up her sunglasses.

"I have a rotten taste in my mouth."

"The meds?"

"Ecklie's behind," Sara answered. "I've been kissing it all morning."

Catherine laughed, but only briefly. Despite Sara's humour, Catherine knew she was far from fully healed. Nick had reported she was still sleeping in his spare room, her army of medications queued neatly on the bedstand. Her sleeping hours were shattered by nightmares. Several times he had found her pacing the kitchen in her nightwear, shirt stained with sweat. Yet whenever Catherine had seen her she had been cautiously upbeat. She licked her wounds only in private.

Nevertheless, Sara was the only other one who had not returned to work. On medical leave, she had done her best to avoid PD and the lab, and the firm, judging stares that followed her along its halls. Even so, she was no coward, and despite her trauma seemed determined to face the situation head-on. Warrick admitted that she had pinned him down for an apologetic speech two days prior, and Nick had reported a similar talk the day before. Nick had willingly forgiven her, Warrick with some reservations. Sofia and Brass reported that she had not yet visited either of them, but she was not altogether surprised to hear that Ecklie, too, was on her list. He held the future of her career in his hands.

"You paid him a visit?" Catherine asked, curious.

"I bought him a coffee."

She offered a resigned smile.

"I have to start somewhere."

Catherine was saved from replying as her cell phone rang shrill from her bag on the back seat. She moved to twist, but gasped in pain.

Sara leapt between the seats.

"I've got it -"

She raised the phone to her ear.

"Catherine's phone."

"It's me," came Grissom's voice. "Is she with you?"

"Safe and sound," Sara reported. "What's up?"

"The hearing has been rescheduled for this afternoon," Grissom replied, sounding harassed. "IAB are demanding her presence."

Sara's shocked eyes met Catherine's.

"You've got to be kidding me. She's -"

"I know," Grissom said, cutting her off. "But she dodged giving a statement at the hospital the other day, and they're angry. They want to wrap this up."

"She didn't _dodge _anything," Sara said firmly. "She has a spinal fracture."

"I'm not arguing, Sara. But I think it may be in her best interest to register a defence."

Something in Catherine's chest tightened with wariness. She saw her job flicker.

"Tell him we'll be there," she said quickly.

But Sara ignored her.

"Well did you speak to them? She's in no condition to be going anywhere. She needs to rest."

"I tried, and so did Ecklie." He sounded irritated. "If she's too ill, we understand. Just give me an ETA on your arrival at her house and we'll meet you there to record her statement."

Sara paused. Her face was still with the same instinctive awareness Catherine felt.

"It's that bad?"

"It's not good," he replied softly.

Catherine shot Sara a hard look; one that left no room for argument.

"What time?"

"It starts in three hours," Grissom said.

"We'll call you back."

She hit the 'end' button, lowering the phone with a look of grave concern.

"You can't consider this ..."

"If I'm going to lose my job, I want to at least be there to defend myself," Catherine said flatly.

There was a long pause.

"You'd better drive me home for a suit."

XXX

In the grim multi-deck carpark at the rear of PD, Catherine steeled herself. It had been a minute or so since Sara had clicked off the ignition, when the silence had fallen. Since then she had stared vaguely ahead at a concrete pillar, but made no move toward unbuckling her seatbelt.

Catherine did not move, either. She knew all too well what was waiting for them; the hard penetrating eyes that would follow them down every corridor.

"You don't have to come in," she offered.

Sara turned, at the same time taking a deep breath.

"I won't be a coward," she said evenly.

Catherine studied her for a moment, wondering, but with a determined click of the seatbelt Sara moved. A moment later she had snatched Catherine's backpack of medications from the rear seat, and then was marching to her passenger door, reaching to help her out.

Catherine grimaced as she moved, pain rippling up her spine, electricity shooting down her legs.

She bit down on a swear word.

"Take it slow," Sara advised.

"Just give me your arm," Catherine said stubbornly. "I can walk."

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, drawing up self-confidence. Sara's brown eyes were sceptical, but she did not argue. Taking Sara's proffered arm, Catherine let herself be led slowly toward the entrance.

The going was slow, each step like a sledgehammer to her lower spine. She walked gingerly, trying not to turn her torso, holding fiercely tight to Sara's steadying arm. By the time they reached the security entrance, she felt weak on her feet. A kind-faced guard stepped forward.

"You okay there, Ms. Willows?"

"I'm great," she snapped.

She realised how harsh it had sounded only when Sara covered with a small grateful smile. A stretch further down the corridor it vanished. Hard eyes grazed at them through every window, studying with unfriendly curiosity the CSIs who had been caught up in the media scandal. Sara stared resolutely ahead. Catherine slayed them with one sweeping glance.

It was after one excruciating elevator ride that they finally arrived on the top floor; the quiet floor of luxurious senior meeting rooms, and the large conference room at the far end which would hold their afternoon hearing.

They paused just outside the elevator doors. The long corridor stretched far ahead, eerily silent.

"It's quiet," Sara observed.

"Like death row," Catherine said. "The last mile."

Sara did not smile at the joke.

"They said they'd be here ..."

Catherine, too, was mystified at the silence, yet they _were _early.

"Let's just find a seat," she concluded.

She wondered if it would help if they at least scored points from the Panel for punctuality. She knew first hand a good first impression went a long way. Yet the thought vanished as Sara tried a door up the corridor, and stopped short upon opening it.

"Hey," she greeted, surprised.

Still holding onto Sara's arm, Catherine could see what had caught her eye. In the far, dim corner of the empty meeting room sat their colleagues, hunched with their heads together. Though they all wore suits and looked as formal as if they were appearing in court, their eyes were jumpy with anxiety, and their whispers ceased abruptly as they spotted Sara standing there.

"You look like you're hiding," Catherine observed.

She left the potential second half of her sentence absent, that they looked like they were colluding to concoct a story. But as they rose to their feet, they did not challenge the term. Grissom headed straight for Sara, his expression grave.

"We need to talk. We don't have much time."

Sara's eyes flitted to the clock on the wall; they had only fifteen minutes. She gave a tight nod. A moment later she had left the room with Grissom, and Catherine found herself under the beams of several pairs of concerned eyes.

Warrick was wincing.

"Damn, you look ill."

She did not disagree as he moved to help her. Her spine felt ready to disintegrate; the drugs alone keeping her on her feet.

She seized his arm gratefully.

"Thanks for coming," Brass added.

They helped her to a chair as Nick and Sofia looked on, Nick's expression one of gutted helplessness.

Sensing a tirade of sympathy was nearing, Catherine shrugged off the formalities, instead addressing Sofia.

"What's our story?"

She knew she was the only one to have not already given a comprehensive statement, but had no inkling of what her colleagues' had said.

Sofia opened her mouth, but Nick cut in.

"The truth, right?" he said, eyes honest. "Just as it was."

Catherine kept her expression level. Nick was too naive.

"Look, why don't you see if you can find her a cushion," Brass said to him. "Something soft."

He rounded up both Nick and Warrick with his firm eyes. They hesitated, then nodded.

"Sure," Warrick said.

He gave Catherine's arm a bracing squeeze, then left. They closed the door behind them. Suddenly the room was silent again.

Knowing they had mere minutes, Catherine cut to the chase.

"Our angle?" she pressed.

"Well that's up to you," Brass said quietly. "We were hoping you could fill us in."

Catherine's mind returned briefly to the initial visit in hospital, Brass and Sofia's uncertainty over forgiving Sara.

"Where are we so far?" she asked.

"So far we've stuck to the facts," Brass said. "At least up until we found her out there."

His eyes said more than his words, and Catherine saw the snag, as she had since the moment it had first happened. It was not just Sara's diagnosis of Stockholm Syndrome that was the issue, but her blatant disregard for the laws of Nevada. She had not just taken Sofia's weapon, but used it to keep Reed hostage against his will. The witnesses for that event, however, were scarce. Only herself and Sofia had overheard Sara's conversation with Reed in the hut, knew that she had been holding him at gunpoint.

"I haven't said anything," Sofia hinted, giving the closed door a wary glance. "Just that they were talking."

"You know you're gonna get asked, though, right?" Brass added. "You were first on the scene. They're going to be digging for it with all the sensitivity of a backhoe."

Catherine swallowed, mind racing.

"This can only go one of two ways," Brass finished.

There was a momentary silence, before Catherine sighed. Her mind returned inevitably to the memory of finding Sara on the bathroom floor, how damaged she had been. She knew with certainty that she had been traumatised, that her story of being mentally assaulted for six hours was true. There was no doubt as to the accuracy of the diagnosis, of Stockholm Syndrome. And as frustrating as her actions thereafter had been, they had not been those of Sara Sidle. Her apology in the hospital had softened some of Catherine's frustration. Her actions afterward had gradually weakened the rest. Sara was trying hard to piece her life back together, and trying to take responsibility. She had not only picked Catherine up from hospital, but was scheduled to spend the night at her place, looking out for her until her mother returned the next morning.

"Look," she said at last, "let's not throw her under the bus here. If you want to have words with her, slap her across the face, do it in private. We don't need to cremate her career. If we're gonna get through this, we need a united front."

Sofia nodded, agreeing.

"Okay," she said. "Then she's ill and you remember as little as possible."

Catherine nodded, but had no time to comment as she heard a crowd of footsteps up the corridor.

They were out of time.

XXX

In no time at all, it started. Catherine sat at the centre of the long table, the table in front of her bare except for her microphone. Up and down the table, her colleagues sat in respectful silence. The Panel of five facing them had said little since their arrival. After a brief introduction regarding the purpose of the hearing, they had paused for a gruelling moment to flick through their mountains of notes.

The silence stretched. Catherine held her nerves steady.

She felt grateful for the pillow at her back, for the silent support of Sara and Grissom either side of her. She had not been privy to their secret conversation minutes earlier, but gathered from Sara's focused eyes that if there had been any argument regarding her presence, she had won, even if she was not allowed to testify.

At last the centre Panel member spoke. His lined face and firm eyes pressed down on her, talking to her directly.

"CSI Willows, we thank you first of all for coming today. We are aware of your medical condition, and will try to keep this as brief as possible."

They did not wait for her nod of gratitude, instead pressing on.

"Take us back to the initial event, when you first found CSI Sidle at her apartment. How would you describe her condition at that time?"

Catherine immediately took a breath, sensing immediately where they were heading. She could not help quickly glancing at Sara beside her.

"Traumatised," she said honestly.

The end Panel member spoke, his pen poised. "Could you elaborate?"

It was a strange feeling to know that Sara's career rested on her ability to make it sound as serious as possible, to not play it down.

Resigned, she told the truth. "When we arrived at her apartment, I was led with Supervisor Grissom to the bathroom. We found Sara sitting on the floor, in shock -"

"It was clear to you, that she was in shock?"

"Absolutely," Catherine said firmly. "She was sitting on the cold tiles, shaking, disengaged. The paramedics couldn't get her to talk. It was a while before she realised who we were."

The five Panel members were all scribbling notes.

"And what did you do?" they pressed.

"We tried to comfort her, keep her warm. We sat with her for several minutes, reassured her she was safe."

The leading Panel member nodded, flicking over a page in his documentation.

"Supervisor Grissom has testified in his statement that she - and I quote - 'had long been stripped of her most elementary sense of safety', that upon eventually recognising who you were, her first and only concern was to seek reassurance that she was protected. What would be your view on that statement?"

"That it's accurate," Catherine said simply. "She was terrified."

She gave a shrug of finality, but seeing the Panel hanging on her words, chose to explain.

"When she recognised me, she moved to check I was armed. We both showed her we were carrying, assured her we had a dozen officers in the hallway."

"And did that alleviate her fear?"

Catherine hesitated. "Only a little."

"A little?" he repeated.

"Just enough to get her to stand."

The Panel fell silent, and Catherine chanced a glance at Sara. But Sara did not appear to object to anything Catherine had said, and still looked focused yet calm.

Catherine closed her eyes briefly as the pain flared in her back, but she had little respite.

"Ms. Willows," the lead member continued, "we understand from the testimonies of your colleagues that you proceeded then to accompany CSI Sidle to Desert Palm Hospital, joined also by Detective Curtis, and that while you were there the assailant stormed the E.R. armed with CSI Sidle's weapon. We understand a shot was fired, without casualty, but that in fearing for her safety you agreed to drive her immediately to the LVPD crime lab. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Catherine agreed.

"You then stayed with her at the lab until morning, during which time you and Supervisor Grissom came to suspect the nature of her condition."

"We came to suspect the presence of Stockholm Syndrome, yes."

"But you didn't arrange for treatment."

The words were firm, the Panel's eyes probing.

"It wasn't safe to pursue any treatment," Catherine argued. "That's why we left the hospital. He was armed and loose on the streets. We were ordered not to leave the lab."

The Panel didn't reply. There was a pause as they took notes. She sensed her colleagues' eyes upon her.

"How would you describe her condition in those intervening hours?" a female panel member asked.

"She was still upset, scared. She was very confused."

"Confused?"

Catherine sighed. "After she indicated to us what had happened, it became clear to me that she was empathising with her captor. She struggled to see him as a criminal. I tried to talk her out of it, support her as best I could."

"How did you do that?"

"I explained to her that what he had done was a criminal act. The law was clear. That aside from what he had done to her, he had clearly attempted to murder Sofia."

The Panel member's eyes narrowed.

"In having that conversation, did you gain the impression she understood?"

Catherine felt Sara's eyes watching closely next to her. She tried to ignore them.

"No," she said. "She was struggling."

"In acknowledging that you aren't a medical practitioner, would you nevertheless concur that she had Stockholm Syndrome? To the best of your understanding of the disease?"

"Textbook case," Catherine said firmly. "It was well ingrained before 911 even got the call."

Eyes down, the Panel scribbled more notes. Catherine closed her eyes again, the pain intensifying. It was as though her spine was in clamps, being pulled in opposite directions.

A wave of dizziness swirled through her.

"Do you need a break?"

She looked up to see all eyes upon her, the lead Panel member's narrowed in concern.

"No," she said quickly, wanting to get the interview over with.

The Panel member hesitated. He motioned for Nick to get her some water from a tray nearby. A moment later the full glass was placed in front of her. She caught a glimpse of his worried expression, and saw it mirrored discretely across the eyes of Brass and Sofia.

She focused on the Panel, keen to press on.

"We believe we have a somewhat accurate account of what happened thereafter," the panel member said, scanning his extensive notes. "We are aware that after CSI Sidle left your company, you were able to utilise the GPS technology inbuilt into her department issued cell phone to locate her in the desert, at which point - fearing greatly for her safety - you judged you were unable to wait for backup, and proceeded to enter the shack and attempt to place the suspect under arrest."

There seemed no point in denying it.

"That's correct," she replied.

She braced herself for the inquisition, but was surprised when none came. After a moment of turning through their notes, they moved forward yet again.

"Take us through your injury," they said at last. "When did you realise you were injured?"

Surprised, she hesitated.

"Straightaway," she replied. "When they helped me out from the under the desk."

"According to our notes, you didn't report to your supervisor that you were injured."

"I ... didn't realise it was that serious," she clarified.

The Panel member nodded politely, but it was hard to tell if her answer satisfied them. Wary of the unexpected line of questioning, she glanced to Brass and Sofia, recalling suddenly their advice that she remember as little as possible. Their eyes were equally wary.

The female panel member flicked through a statement in front of her.

"Captain Brass indicates that upon suspecting you were unwell, he requested Detective Curtis accompany you back to your vehicle, and that a mere minute or two later, was summoned by her shouts for help. He told us that after running up the hill, they found you hunched over in pain, and that you were, I quote, 'barely responsive'."

Catherine waited for the question, the pain in her back building. The pillow now provided little comfort.

"Did you fear for your life?"

"I don't remember," she replied.

"What do you remember?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Pain. For anything more than that, I have to defer to the testimony of my colleagues."

They stared at her for a long moment, then nodded.

"Very well. Supervisor Grissom ... we understand from the log of LVPD control that a full forty-one minutes elapsed between the time when Captain Brass logged the call for aid, and when the ambulance arrived. Could you walk us through those forty minutes?"

"She collapsed and we cared for her," Grissom said calmly.

The Panel member raised an eyebrow at the succinct response.

"How would you describe the injury?" he clarified. "Serious?"

"Critical," Grissom replied.

As he spoke Catherine closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. The pain was throbbing, front and back.

"I take it you administered first aid?" the Panel member queried.

"Yes."

"And?"

"It was evident she was in shock," Grissom said. "She was pale, trembling and in severe pain. We monitored her condition until help arrived."

Even through her pain, Catherine felt suddenly suspicious. His answer sounded deliberately evasive, far too succinct for a formal statement. Sofia's words rang through her mind again: _You remember as little as possible ..._

Something felt off.

The world wavered. Sara's hand settled discretely on her shoulder.

"And did you fear for her life?"

Grissom was silent beside her.

"Mr. Grissom?" they prompted.

The pain wracking Catherine's spine like a sledgehammer, she felt Sara's hand gently pull at her shoulder, hinting to stand.

"Ms. Willows?"

Sara's chair slid back as she stood.

"You'll have to excuse us," she said firmly.

And without further apology, she pulled Catherine to her feet.

* * *

_I must admit I was having doubts for a while about whether I'd get this chapter finished. I feel very pleased about finally posting this. Sincere apologies for the delay, though. Hope people are still reading. _


	13. Chapter 13

It was a moment later that they emerged into the deserted corridor outside, Sara closing the door quietly behind them. Catherine paused for a second, mind reeling. The pain throbbed, and she felt herself waver in dizziness.

"I'm fine," she said, holding up a hand.

"You're on the verge of collapse," Sara countered.

She did not wait for argument, but gently took Catherine's arm to lead her down the corridor.

"There's a sick bay down the hall," she added. "Let's go."

But as they walked Catherine's mind continued to spin through the events in the Hearing - Sofia's hint, and Grissom's all too brief answers. Something twisted in her stomach, the knowledge that something was amiss.

"They're hiding something," she said.

Sara said nothing.

"Those questions made no sense," Catherine persisted. "Why focus on my injury?"

But Sara remained tight-lipped, and said nothing as they entered the sick bay. It was a small room lined with cupboards and first aid posters, with a faint smell of disinfectant reminiscent of the hospital. At the back of the room was a further inner door, partially open. Sara put her hand on it, peeking around to check it was empty.

"It's all clear," she said, pushing it open.

The room was dim, some old vertical blinds closed. A single bed was made up against the wall.

"Lie down," Sara guided. "Get some rest."

Her back screaming, Catherine lowered herself carefully to sit on the edge. The mattress was soft, on springs. She slipped off her shoes.

But still the questions burned.

"You gonna answer me?" she pressed.

"I'm not the one to ask," Sara replied.

Though her face was stubborn, her eyes were gentle.

Catherine sighed, the pain inching up her spine again. She braced herself, then moved, very slowly lying down on her back. Within seconds, the pain eased, as if a cramp was unfurling itself.

She closed her eyes for several long moments. She heard Sara's footsteps retreat, the sound of running water in the sink, and then felt the mattress dip as Sara sat beside her. She opened her eyes to see her holding a glass of water, and a box of her prescription painkillers.

"It'll take the edge off," Sara offered.

Wishing she had taken it before lying down, Catherine inclined her head, allowing Sara to help her drink. She followed it with the tablets, swallowing them down with ease.

She tried to relax, letting her spine settle.

"You need to talk to me," Catherine pleaded.

Sara raised an eyebrow.

"If I'm going to go on record as being party to a lie, I at least want to be warned."

A flicker of a smile passed Sara's lips.

"You're being paranoid," she said. "It's nothing like that."

"Fine," Catherine replied. "So tell me the truth."

Sara hesitated, but Catherine locked eyes, not giving in. At last Sara sighed. She gave the closed door a quick glance.

"They haven't given a false statement," Sara said quietly. "They've told the truth."

Catherine searched her eyes, feeling lost.

"Cath ..." she began awkwardly, "what happened to you out there, it's ... hard to talk about."

Catherine waited.

"It feels personal," Sara finished.

The sense that she was missing something again filled Catherine; the awareness that her own memory of events was a mere page of the full story. She remembered collapsing, knew they had all stayed beside her, but had never thought there was more.

"I doubt that they feel the Panel needs to hear every detail," Sara explained.

"Why?" Catherine asked softly. "What happened?"

Sara hesitated. "Have they spoken to you about this?"

"I've heard I was delirious," Catherine ventured. "Unconscious. Not much else."

"You were on the ground for a long time," Sara explained. "And sometimes, it's just as traumatic to be the first aider as it is to be the victim. An experience like that doesn't leave you. It sticks in your mind."

She paused briefly.

"There was a huge sense of helplessness," she went on, "in watching you die. You were in a great deal of pain, and we were powerless. It happened so fast, and you deteriorated quickly."

She paused again.

"I need to know," Catherine prompted quietly.

"By the time we got you on the ground, you were already in shock," Sara said. "Your vitals were unstable, your temperature high. We had to take your shirt off to cool you."

Catherine nodded; she had known that.

"You lost consciousness," Sara continued. "You faded in and out. You were very distressed, holding people's hands. You kept begging us for help, but there was nothing we could do."

Sara's eyes were glistening as she spoke.

"You pleaded with us not to leave," she went on. "And later you were begging for water, but we couldn't give it. You kept asking, and we had to turn you down. Then you were vomiting blood, your pulse was faint and irregular ... we never expected you to live. We held you and watched you die."

She paused. Catherine felt winded, hot tears in the backs of her eyes.

"You coded in the ambulance, Catherine."

Catherine had no idea what to say, if words even existed.

"Technically, you died." She paused. "The Panel has the ambulance notes. They know it happened. But that's why they're asking, why Grissom, Brass and Sofia are so protective. Because despite the fact that you were resuscitated, my actions led to your death."

Catherine was speechless.

A clock on the wall ticked.

"I doubt if any of us will escape blame," Sara finished. "That's just the way it is."

Moments passed. Catherine's hot tears slipped, and unable to turn away, she kept a hand over her eyes, wanting privacy. She felt the urge to tell Sara that it had not been her fault, but unable to speak, the thought was lost as soon as it had come. She felt Sara's reassuring hand on her arm.

Time passed, unmeasured, until eventually a knock at the door broke her reverie.

"Cath?" came Grissom's voice. "Sara?"

"We'll just be a minute!" Sara called.

But hand still over her eyes, Catherine shook her head, not ready to see them, to see anyone.

A second set of knuckles tapped, more rapid. Brass' voice came through.

"She okay in there?"

Through the door she heard his hushed voice.

"Get in there and check," he asked quietly. "See she's okay."

And without warning the door creaked open. Through her wet fingers Catherine saw a glimpse of Sofia's suit, of her stopping in her tracks as she saw her.

Catherine turned her head away.

A heavy pause gripped the room.

"Go bring a car round," Brass said, voice breaking. "We'll drive her home."

* * *

_A short chapter, but posted in record time. This felt like a natural place to pause. Getting near the end now, not far to go!_


	14. Chapter 14

Thereafter, things happened of their own accord. Exhausted and pained, she let the tide of events carry her. First there were whispers in the outside corridor, Brass' voice as he said, "Let me talk to 'em", and then quiet for several moments. When he returned she was urged to sit up, the firm arms of Brass and Sofia supporting her as Sara helped slip on her shoes.

Moments later she was in the passenger seat of an SUV, and Brass at the wheel, they peeled out onto the sunlit afternoon roads.

They rode in silence for several long miles. She held a hand to her eyes, knowing they must be red and swollen. She sensed Brass exchanging looks with Sofia in the rear seat, but it was not until they were well clear of the Strip that he ventured to speak.

"You okay?" he asked.

She did not answer.

"You need to stop for anything?" he asked. "A pharmacy? Stretch your legs?"

She sighed, at last letting her hand fall.

"I just want this over with," she replied.

He nodded, passed her a look of sympathy. "Yeah. Don't we all."

There was a brief pause.

"But you know it's okay," he added gently. "I mean, we know what you're going through. We've all been there at one time or another."

He paused as he changed lanes, weaving gently through traffic.

"I mean, you've been around a while. You know how these things work. They'll slap our wrists, make their point, we go home, get some rest, some sleep, wake up the next day and the sun's shining. It sorts itself out."

Catherine shook her head, feeling beat. He had it all wrong.

"That's not what bothers me," she confessed.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

She hesitated, but they both looked genuinely concerned.

"Something about that night," she replied.

She saw memory flit through their eyes. Brass looked away.

Sofia nodded, comprehending. "She told you what happened."

"You didn't," Catherine added.

"I -"

But she broke off.

"We're sorry," Brass put in, offering a shrug. "We thought it was for the best."

Catherine let the moment pass, too weak to argue. She felt exhausted, and still the pain twisted in her back, tightening evermore the longer she sat. Weak, she shivered.

"You cold?" Brass observed.

He flicked at the heater control, sliding it fully open.

In the back Sofia shed her black suit jacket, handing it between the seats, without fuss.

"Stay warm," she advised. "Your immune system's down."

And shivering, Catherine accepted it. She wrapped it around her front like a blanket, and closed her eyes, trusting as she had once before.

XXX

In the corridor of the LVPD, Sara took a moment, reeling from what had just happened. Catherine looked worse than she had even an hour ago, being practically carried to the car by Brass and Sofia. Her eyes had been red and damp, her hair messed, and she had avoided all their eyes.

She took a steadying breath. She knew Brass and Sofia would take care of her. She would be fine.

She swallowed, turning her attention to the task at hand. The Panel had excused Brass and Sofia from the proceedings, but the rest of them would have to see it to the end. She watched the Panel return to the room, saw Grissom recover himself.

She felt sick of the events, sick of everything.

Making a snap decision, she turned on her heels, marching after the Panel.

"Sara?" Grissom called.

She paused, turning.

"Wait here," she said calmly.

Nick, still looking shaken, raised a worried eyebrow.

"This is a circus," Sara said firmly. "And I've had enough."

XXX

When Catherine woke, the first thing she felt was sweat. Tucked up in her own bed, the electric blanket sizzled beneath her, melting her shivers of hours before. After being driven home by Brass and Sofia, she had fallen straight into bed, the narcotic medication lulling her into deep sleep. The hot sun had faded from around the curtains, the room dim. She glanced at the clock. Over two hours had passed.

Gently, she sat up, pausing for a moment on the edge of the bed. The bedroom door was cracked open two inches, as though someone had kept an eye on her.

She listened, and after a moment heard Brass and Sofia's voices wafting down from her living room.

"You see that?" Brass asked kindly. "Right there."

"It's the twelfth thoracic vertebrae," Sofia added. "But that one's just a hairline. The real damage is a level higher - T11."

Curious, Catherine stood, moving to the door. A moment later her question was answered, as she heard Lindsey's voice.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'd say it hurts a fair bit, yeah," Brass said gently. "Between that and the damage to her spleen, your Mom's gonna need some help for a while."

"That's why Sara's staying," Sofia explained.

In the slight pause that followed, Catherine slowly made her way down the hall. Hastily straightening her hair with her fingers, she hoisted a confident smile as she stepped into the room.

"Hey!" she greeted.

Brass and Sofia were stood with Lindsey in the corner of the living room, examining x-rays which had been taped to the window. The afternoon light shone through perfectly as Brass pointed to the site of the fractures in Catherine's spine.

At her voice, Lindsey turned. Her face burst into life.

"MOMMY!"

"Be careful!" Sofia coached, as Lindsey pelted toward her.

Lindsey stopped just short of a hug, wary of where to touch her.

"I'm okay," Catherine soothed, stroking her hair.

"Mom, can I still go to the sleepover?" Lindsey asked anxiously.

"Of course you can," Catherine said, smiling. "Have you packed?"

Evidently expecting that her plans would have been forcibly cancelled, Lindsey grinned.

"Not yet, I thought -"

"You can go," Catherine cut in. "Why don't you go pack some things. Give me a minute with Captain Brass."

Grinning, Lindsey left, running down the hallway toward her bedroom.

When she was safely gone, Catherine turned to Brass and Sofia.

"Kid's Mom was on the phone," Brass explained. "She'd heard what happened, wanted to know if Lindsey was still coming."

"It's fine," Catherine said, waving it down.

Her eyes went to the X-Rays, and felt a rush of gratitude, knowing they both must have been explaining her injuries to Lindsey. She did not ask, however, as the pain already started knotting in her spine.

"How're you feeling?" Brass asked. "You okay?"

"Tell me about the Hearing," Catherine said. "Have you heard anything?"

"It finished a half hour ago," Sofia said. "The others are on their way here with Sara. We're still waiting on a verdict."

"They're deliberating," Brass added. "Gonna phone through when they have word."

"Leaving us in suspense," Catherine concluded.

"Yeah," Brass agreed, looking unimpressed. "But hey, as long as that's all they do, I'm not too worried."

"What's your bet?" Catherine asked. "Suspensions all round?"

"I would've thought that an hour ago, yeah," Brass said.

"An hour ago?"

"Our estimate's changed since Sara took the stand, chose to testify."

"She _what_?" Catherine asked. "I thought she was declared medically unfit?"

"Yeah," Brass said, nodding. "So did we."

"According to Grissom she was in there a full half hour," Sofia added, looking strained. "They had to wait outside."

"What'd she say?" Catherine asked.

"Well that's the best part," Brass went on. "She refused to say. She's not telling anybody."

Catherine drew in a breath, the pressure and pain suddenly building.

Sofia sighed. "Catherine ... if she betrayed us after all we did to save her, I'm going to -"

"Strangle her," Catherine finished, feeling the same. "Get in line."

XXX

With nothing to do but sit tight, Catherine tried to stay calm. Leaving Brass and Sofia to make themselves at home, she edged painfully back down the passage to check on Lindsey, and then found herself in the spare bedroom. Sara would need somewhere to sleep. Gazing down at the double bed, she wondered how long it had been since she'd changed the sheets.

Keen to focus on anything but the Hearing, she grabbed the bedcovers, stripping the top layer.

Lindsey's voice rang out from down the passage.

"Mom!" She halted in the doorway, blonde hair flying. "The driveway's full of _cops_."

"Well if it's Grissom and Sara, let 'em in," Catherine replied.

She disappeared. Catherine listened to her jog back toward the front door just as she moved to seize the blankets. With a sharp tug she stripped them, throwing them onto the carpet.

She did not realise she had company until she heard Grissom's voice.

"Spring cleaning?"

She turned to see him in the doorway, an eyebrow raised.

Sara stopped next to him, an overnight bag slung over her shoulder, her face lit with disbelief.

"What are you doing?"

"You need somewhere to sleep, right?" Catherine retorted.

"Did you even read your discharge sheet?"

Brass' voice echoed down the hallway. "She causing trouble down there?"

Sara turned a critical eye to him as he arrived with Sofia.

"You didn't stop her?"

They stared, unable to offer an excuse.

"Catherine, your discharge was conditional. Full adult supervision, rest, no strenuous activity, no reaching overhead, no lifting, no carrying, no heights -"

"No job?" Catherine cut in, turning on her.

Sara's expression changed.

A pause sizzled the room.

Regretting her words, Catherine added gently, "What did you tell them?"

Sara looked surprised by the question.

"You gave a statement," Sofia pressed.

"I tried something unconventional," Sara said calmly. "I told the truth."

Catherine felt immediately wary. "What kind of truth?"

"I backed your story, if that's what you're asking."

"You were declared medically unfit for questioning," Grissom added, gentle yet firm. "Your psychiatrist was explicit."

"I wasn't questioned," Sara countered. "I gave a free, voluntary statement."

"What for?" Brass asked. "I mean, if it tallies with ours, why bother, right?"

Nick narrowed his eyes, looking worried.

"Tell me you didn't offer to take the fall here."

Sara stiffened, irritated. "I told the truth as I see it, and I have as much right to give my statement as anybody else."

"But you're not gonna tell us what that was?" Brass asked, puzzled. "What, do you enjoy scaring us? Think this is fun?"

Sara turned on him, nearly choking.

_"Fun? _I was the one alone in that room, being tortured with a gun to my head, for six hours. You call that fun?"

Her eyes were wide, burning into his.

"_Try it_," she finished.

And with a flash of anger, she left the room.

A tense silence settled.

Brass looked deeply awkward.

"You or me?" Nick asked, looking to Catherine.

"I'll go," Catherine said.

She threw down the blanket she'd been holding.

"You stay here."

* * *

_It feels like the end of this story just keeps slipping further away. But I enjoyed this chapter. Not too far to go._


	15. Chapter 15

_Last chapter! Here it is..._

* * *

It took no effort to find her. The thud of the front door led the way, reinforced by Lindsey standing confused nearby. Catherine carefully made her way outside into the afternoon sunshine, and saw Sara hovering at the driver's door of the SUV, turning on the spot, reeling.

Catherine stopped a few feet away, as Sara held up a hand.

"I do _not _want to hear it right now," she said.

Catherine nodded, understanding. She waited the fateful moment for her to calm, when she stopped spinning, and instead fell back against the car. She put her hands over her face, as though trying to wipe away all the pain, the memories.

When she did not emerge again, Catherine edged closer. She gently took her arm, offering a comforting squeeze.

"It's okay ..."

A long moment passed. Catherine continued to offer comfort until at last Sara emerged, hands falling from her face, her stressed brown eyes wracked with trauma.

"It was worse than you can ever imagine," she said sadly.

"I know," Catherine said gently, rubbing her arm. "But all they want is to understand."

"I'm not going back," Sara said.

Catherine read in her eyes that she did not mean the house, but back further, to the trauma itself.

"No one's going back," Catherine agreed. "This is about moving forward. So we can all move on. But we can't do that until we're all on the same page, till we know where we stand."

Sara did not respond.

"Look," Catherine said gently, "if you made a statement, then by now it's public record. It'd be easy for us to access. But no one wants to go behind your back. So there's a choice. We can do this the long, painful way, or we can go back in there, tell the truth, and end this in five minutes."

Sara hesitated, not looking persuaded.

"Please?" Catherine asked, squeezing her arm.

She held her eyes for a long moment, until at last Sara's relaxed. A small smile graced her lips.

"If I talk to them, will you stop trying to kill yourself?"

Catherine smiled, laughing a little.

"I promise, I'll do my best to behave."

Sara swallowed, then nodded bravely.

"Okay then."

XXX

In future years, Catherine would marvel at Sara's courage in deciding to return inside, and her honesty with which she chose to tell the truth. The moment itself occurred nearly ten minutes later, after Lindsey had been picked up by friends, and when the remainder of their company were seated in the living room.

Catherine walked in with an arm loosely around her, and watched Sara gather her courage.

All eyes were upon her, and though Sara's were trembling, she met them head on.

With an air of plunging straight in, she said, "I told them the truth. I went through what happened in my apartment, the hours afterward. I acknowledged that I wrongly left your company at the hotel, and I confessed to stealing your weapon."

Her eyes lingered on Sofia.

In the stunned silence that followed, Sara approached, perching on the armrest beside Nick.

"I ... acknowledge that I was wrong to take it, and I apologise. But you've probably already figured why I did."

Sofia looked deeply confused.

"Actually ... I have no idea."

Sara hesitated. Catherine passed her a look of encouragement.

"The medical terminology is Stockholm Syndrome," Sara went on. "But it's just a tidy little word, and when you're experiencing it, it doesn't do it justice. I was ... messed up. I was so confused I could barely see straight. When I was in bed with him, it was amazing. When he held me at gunpoint, I was terrified. But then he told me his story, and ... I began to understand. I understood because I know what it's like to have your world turned upside down. I know what it's like to have a normal life one moment, and have a loved one dead at your feet in the next. I've been there, and I know how hard it is to live with."

She swallowed, and met Catherine's eyes.

"I never saw a criminal," she confessed. "You were trying to explain to me that he was one, and I didn't see it. I didn't even _begin _to see anything until he came here to your house - until he tried to track you all down. And then I just felt confused."

She paused. Nick offered a nod of understanding.

"I was torn between helping you arrest him, and trying to sort things out in my own head. He needed help, and instead he got a manhunt. I didn't know what to do. But I had a hunch all along about where he was. And then you came up empty-handed in your search, and I knew I had to choose. But before I could do that I had to understand."

"You're saying you went out there to talk?" Warrick asked softly.

Sara nodded. "Yeah. I took the gun for self-defence. It wasn't a murder mission. I just had to know I was doing the right thing."

"And did you get that?" Grissom asked. "That understanding?"

"I felt more confused than ever," Sara confessed, eyes heavy. "A part of me wanted to hug him, to help in some way. But then you entered, Catherine, and he attacked you, and ... I think in that instant I finally saw it. I shot him down to save your life, only to discover that I was already too late."

Sara's eyes clouded with deep guilt.

"In the time afterward I saw it clearly," Sara said, pained. "What I'd done." She looked to Sofia. "You were telling me in the ER that I'd killed her, and ... I knew you were right. Then I saw everything. And I haven't slept a wink since."

Silence followed. Nick's arm slipped around her waist.

"I think what you're talking about is one of the greatest taboos in law enforcement," Grissom said kindly. "This notion of right and wrong, black and white. We're conditioned to view people as good or bad, because categorising allows the brain to quickly process information. But the truth is that even the meanest criminals have heart. And it's people in these prolonged hostage situations who get to see it. Seeing them act with compassion or humanity unravels our notions about what a criminal is. It becomes easy to be blinded by their real activities, the danger of who they are."

"Stockholm Syndrome," Sara summarised. "It's a nice theory, the notion that I'm not responsible."

"Do you believe you are?"

She hesitated. "I believe I'll never forgive myself."

She avoided Catherine's eyes.

"And this is what you told the Panel?" Brass asked gently.

Sara nodded.

"Yeah. And I asked them to clear you. I told them you were just trying to help."

Brass looked as if every word was gutting him.

"_Jesus_," he said.

He got to his feet, making his way over to her.

"Look," he said, "we're good, okay?" He held her shoulder. "Don't do this to yourself. You let the guilt get to you, and it'll rip you apart better than this guy ever did."

Sara's eyes were damp, but they searched Catherine's.

"It was _not _your fault," Catherine said firmly.

Sara did not look convinced.

"I am ... _really _sorry," she replied emphatically.

She looked ready to burst into tears. Feeling dreadful, Catherine moved without thinking. She perched on the armrest, and hugged her.

Sara returned the hug lightly, afraid of hurting her. After a moment they pulled away.

"Just promise us one thing," Catherine said.

Sara waited, ready.

"_Next _time you meet some guy in a bar, let one of us screen him first. Be on the safe side."

Sara smiled. "You've got a deal."

A silence settled.

"I need a drink," Sofia concluded.

She got to her feet just as Grissom's phone rang.

"Well," Brass ventured, "that'll be destiny."

"I'll take this outside," Grissom said.

He got to his feet, fishing out a pen and notepad from his jacket pocket. He stepped out the rear sliding door.

A tense moment followed.

"Well," Catherine said, determined to make the best of it, "I've got coffee and I've got beer, depending on the outcome."

She led Sofia to the kitchen.

"I hope you're not intending to have beer," Sara observed, with a critical smile.

Catherine paused, already forgetting her promise. Alcohol was out of the question with her medication. She smiled, passing the beer instead to Sofia, and fetching herself a mug.

"You know," Brass joked, addressing Sara, "I hope you realise what you've taken on here. CSIs make lousy patients."

"I promised to behave myself," Catherine said.

"Oh," Brass said, nodding. "Well let us know when that starts. I'd like to see that part."

Laughing, she flicked a bottle cap at him. He ducked away just in time.

"Seriously," he added, "if you need anything, you give us a call. We're here to help."

"Especially now we have the time on our hands," Sofia added.

"Stay positive," Catherine counselled.

But they did not have to wonder for long, as at that moment Grissom returned, his notepad littered with scribbled notes.

His face looked grim.

"Well..?" Catherine ventured.

Reading his face, Sara added, "How bad?"

He tucked away his phone.

"Just give us the short version," Brass advised. "The recap. I think we all know how this looks."

Catherine's heart hammered in her chest.

"The good news is, no one's lost their job," Grissom said. "We're all still employed."

"Well ... that's good," Nick said, nodding.

"And the bad news?" Catherine asked.

"Multiple suspensions," Grissom replied heavily. "The only one to escape is Sofia."

He met Sofia's searching eyes.

"You've been cleared," he explained.

"Well that's the right verdict," Brass said, relieved on her behalf.

But Sofia did not look relieved, but wary for everyone else. Catherine's own heart felt heavy.

Grissom hesitated.

"Just say it," Warrick pleaded. "I can't take the suspense."

"You and Nick are suspended for a week each," Grissom confessed. "For what they term as a fatal lack of judgement in proceeding down the hill toward that desert dwelling. They ruled it was a clear breach of protocol that resulted in the near death of your colleague."

Nick and Warrick both swallowed, the news heavy.

"Where does that leave me?" Catherine asked warily, knowing she had too taken part.

"As a supervisor, they deemed your breach more serious," Grissom said. "They gave you two weeks." He paused. "Brass and I receive a week each for failing to stop you."

Catherine stared.

"That's absurd," she said. "You warned us, what else were you supposed to do?"

Grissom shrugged, too weary to contemplate.

His eyes turned to Sara.

She lifted an eyebrow, nervous.

"Three weeks," Grissom said softly, as though the words were painful. "One for taking Sofia's weapon, and two for your actions afterward. You're also to be under regular review by a psychiatrist, with progress reports to be reviewed with your supervisor for the next six months."

Sara nodded bravely, though shaking.

"I'm ... okay with that."

"You and Catherine are both on medical leave, with your suspensions to be served once you've been certified fit for duty."

"Is that it?" Catherine asked.

"Isn't that enough?" Sofia replied, irritated on their behalf.

"That's it," Grissom confirmed.

There was a pause.

"Well what's done is done," Brass said. "And considering the events that's about the best we could have hoped for. I thought we'd had it."

"So did I," Warrick confessed.

"So we kick our feet up a few days, catch our breath, and in the end it's no harm done. I mean, look on the bright side. At least it's over. If he'd lived, if we hadn't all made those choices, it would've dragged on in court for years to come. Would've made our hearing look like a kindergarten role play." He sighed. "I'm not saying it's right, but it could've been worse."

And Sara nodded.

There was not much more to say.

XXX

In the days and weeks following, Catherine realised that hearing the verdict had been the low point. After that, once the shock had passed, the healing began. True to her promise to Sara, she had stuck closely to the doctors' orders, co-operating fully with the slew of medical appointments. There had been the orthopaedic reviews of her spine, ultrasounds of her spleen, the endless physiotherapy and rehabilitation. Sara had been present for most of it, her guilt transpiring into determined loyalty. Yet for Catherine, this worked. It was a relief to have Sara's easygoing presence, her no fuss approach to helping. It was a stark contrast to her mother, who threatened to fuss her into an early grave.

Then, too, was the help from the others. With their suspensions being served, she had found herself on the receiving end of help from all her colleagues. Nick and Warrick drove her into the hospital for her ultrasound, Grissom the next day for her spinal review. Even Sofia had found time, and drove her on her day off to her rehabilitation appointment. Catherine was an astute observer, and had a suspicion that their eagerness to assist stemmed deeper than just out of mere selflessness. She sensed that they, too, had the memory of that day haunting them, that they struggled to shake it off. Yet understanding, she did not confront them on it.

In time, the pain began to improve, and after a few weeks, she became more mobile. Sara - who had been living between Nick and Catherine's places - bravely turned her attention to her apartment. She had not been back since the day of the incident, and determined to move on, had decided to lease out the apartment while she herself found one in another neighborhood. Her psychiatric appointments were also progressing well, and Catherine had been glad to see that she started smiling and joking again, time and medication working their magic. Having long gained the forgiveness of the team, and of Brass and Sofia, she was scheduled to resume work in just another week. Ecklie, strangled by the pressues of being short-staffed, seemed relieved to have her back.

It was at this point that Catherine found herself back in the lab for the first time, invited to drop in on a birthday gathering for Warrick. She strolled in with Sara to find the breakout room exploding with shouts and cheers, Nick and Warrick laughing at the centre.

Sara leaned grinning against the door frame, watching them.

"Hey!" Nick said, spotting her. He made his way through the throng. "Get in here! C'mon -"

He took Sara's elbow, as Warrick fought his way toward Catherine.

"C'mon, we saved you a seat," Warrick invited, arm around her.

"Grissom here?" Catherine asked curiously.

She saw most of the lab present, including Greg and even Doc Robbins, but Grissom was conspicuous in his absence.

"Said he's on his way," Nick replied, offering a shrug.

"He's in his office with Sofia," Warrick added.

"I'll be back in a minute," she assured.

Excusing herself, she wandered down the deserted passage to Grissom's office. She found it quiet, the blinds closed, Grissom sitting relaxed with Sofia opposite him. It was evidently an informal visit. They looked as if they had been there for some time.

"Hey," she greeted. "You hiding out?"

"We promised to drop in," Grissom covered, though he looked in no hurry to move.

Sofia reached to pull out a spare seat for her.

"You're walking better," she observed.

"It heals a little more each day," Catherine said, taking the seat. "You know these things just need time."

"And a little more of it," Grissom said, concerned. "Don't push yourself."

It had only been three weeks, yet already Catherine had approached Grissom about returning. He had promptly shot her down, vowing that she would remain off work until he was convinced she could cope with the rigours of the job. Even then, she would start off on reduced hours, and gradually work her way up to a full workload over the following months.

"Are you okay?" Sofia asked.

She realised she had been quiet for several moments.

"I'm fine," she replied truthfully. "I just wanted a word."

Grissom watched her closely. "I've had a feeling there's something still on your mind."

"Just unfinished business," Catherine confessed. "I wanted to say thanks."

"For..?" he prompted.

"Your help that night," she admitted.

She felt slightly awkward in saying it, and yet as the weeks passed it was the one thing she could not let go of. The memory haunted her: the sensation of drifting unconscious, Grissom and Sofia her only lifeline ... she found herself reliving it in her sleep, waking up covered in sweat, relieved to find herself alive in the bedroom. Once or twice she had been woken by Sara, who had found her thrashing around. She had sat with her a while, offered a cold cloth to soothe the sweat. The pain she could relieve with medication; the memories stuck like thorns.

"You're welcome," Sofia said.

Her tone indicated it went without saying.

"Are you still thinking about it?" Grissom probed.

"I don't have PTSD," she said, reading in Grissom's eyes where he was heading.

"I'm not saying you do," he replied. "But Sara told us about your nightmares."

Catherine stared.

"I think sometimes we're so focused on the physical ailments, the mental scars can go undetected."

"I've been sleeping fine," she said curtly.

"Well if that's true, you're the only one," Sofia said flatly.

Catherine hesitated, unaware.

"Does that surprise you?" Grissom asked.

Catherine shook her head, not knowing what to say.

Sofia sat up, leaning forward.

"You weren't alone out there, Catherine. It terrified everyone."

"Nick barely slept for a week," Grissom put in. "Everyone remembers. And that's okay."

It was a rare admission; to see Grissom's eyes reflect the fear he had felt. It was a look mirrored in Sofia's blue eyes, which were focused on her in concern. It looked as if it had cost both of them to admit it, but she appreciated it.

She nodded, more grateful than she could say.

"It's natural," Sofia said. "But don't dwell on it. Sara's okay ... and you're going to be fine."

There was a pause.

Catherine nodded again; she had no doubt.

There was something soothing about the comraderie; that the unsettling nature of the memories could be soothed by the fact that they felt it too.

"I just came to say thanks," she said again.

"And you're welcome," Grissom repeated.

She smiled.

Feeling suddenly light-hearted she stood, ready to go join the party, to joke with Nick and Warrick. She turned, but stopped as she saw Sara arrive with Brass in the doorway.

"Hey," she said lightly. "We just came to see if you wanted some cake."

"They're wolfing it down, we didn't want you to miss out," Brass added.

Catherine knew straightaway they were both lying, that they had come to check on her, to see she was okay.

Touched, she smiled.

"Absolutely," she replied. "Deal me in."

Grissom and Sofia stood with her, and together the five of them left the room. They entered the hallway, following the echoes of joyful shouting.

"You know it's gonna be okay, right?" Sara asked quietly.

"It's good," Catherine said, nodding. "We're good."

"'Cause you know if it's not, we've got a backup plan," Brass said.

"Backup plan?" Sofia repeated, amused.

"Well, you know, I thought we could all get together, take some vows. You know, turn over a new leaf, swear to celibacy, sign a virginity pledge ..."

Sara was grinning.

"My trouble didn't start until _after _that."

"Oh, well that's a shame," he replied. "Catherine, Sofia?"

"Hey, count me in," Catherine joked. "My sex life isn't going anywhere for the next six months."

"Get Grissom and the guys, and it's a date," Sofia added, grinning.

And laughing, they entered the break-out room.

Somehow, it would be fine.

* * *

_As usual, I get to the end of the story, see the word count, and think, "If I'd known it was going to be that long, I never would've started it!" But I had a great time. Thanks to the loyal reviewers who have kept me writing this fic. I hope the ending was satisfying._


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